


Son of Saur and Syn

by Reena



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Amnesiac Stiles Stilinski, Armor, Books, Culture, Dark Stiles, Depression, Dragons, F/M, Game of Thrones-esque, Gender or Sex Swap, Implied Mpreg, Inspired by Game of Thrones, Intrigue, Knights - Freeform, Languages, M/M, Magic, Magical Lydia Martin, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Necromancy, Original Universe, Other, Plot Twists, Prince Stiles, Religion, Resurrection, Revolution, Scheming, Sibling Incest, Slavery, Slow Burn, Temporarily Female Stiles Stilinski, Temporary Amnesia, The Hale Pack - Freeform, War, Werewolves, Wolf Derek, Xenophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-03-26 13:17:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 148,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3852307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reena/pseuds/Reena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the year 995 AN Queen Claudia Stilinski rules in Sylune, the capital of the Holy Kingdom. That year she gives birth to twins, Princes Stuart and Stiles Stilinski, two golden-eyed boys whose fates were bound from the very first second. Queen Claudia is famous for being a just monarch who hatched a very old dragon egg in her youth, thus pushed the extinction of dragons at least a century. </p><p>Time passes and in 1013 AN, the Northerners, represented by the Hales; and the southerners, represented by the Argents, compete for influence in court now that the Princes are coming of age. Their rivalry is at its peak in this era, since the dragon's presence brought the Argent family back to Sylune.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Council of Nobles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aleska](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aleska/gifts).



> Welcome! The first chapter is uploaded and the rest will eventually be too. They're long and narrated through different places in which action takes place at the same time. Information on the world here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3888826
> 
> Though the world is explained as the story goes, it's good to note the title refers to the two main ethnic groups that are in conflict: the Syns, northern warriors which are rumored to be under the curse of lycanthropy; and the Saurs, the southern dwellers, a faction of which tamed dragons millennia ago - the Scaled. Ewyn Stilinski's dynasty is of Saur descent but represents a compromise between them.

**Sylune, Stilinski Spike, May 1013 AN**

It was early in the morning and birds were chirping lively. The sun was rising in the Valley and many small peoples were already working, making the city and its surroundings come to life with its lenient warmth. Spring in Sylune brought mostly good weather, sunny with some soft rains for the fields. It gave peasants hope of a good harvest that would feed their children and fill their pockets with gold. The city and district gates were already open in the Holy City.

Sylune is the capital of the Holy Kingdom, and it is the biggest and wealthiest city in the known world. Sylune is around three millennia old and was founded in the Six Hills of Clearwaters by a Council of Syn and Saur leaders that unified the Eastern Lands for the first time. Today, Queen Claudia IV of house Stilinski rules from the Royal Palace located in the Inner District, in the center of the city, but the institution of the Council persists as royal advisors. Sylune is shaped like a hexagram, a six-pointed star that is the sign for White Magic and casts a spell of protection and health over the city. It's split in two parts, West and East, by the river Clearwaters, which flows into The Strait, a stretch of sea that separates the Eastern Lands from the mysterious Western Lands. Little is known about them other than the portuary city-state of Pentos that stands on the other end of The Strait and frequently trades with Sylune.

Inside the walls there's the Low District, mostly populated by small peoples; and the Inner District, also shaped like an hexagon, where the Royal Palace is located. The triangle-shaped Districts outside the Low District are called Spikes and there are six of them, one for each hill. They are mostly inhabited by noble Sylunite families and have palaces for representatives of other important families in other regions, such as the North. 

The Stilinski Palace, inhabited by the Princes, is located in the South-West Spike. Stuart and Stiles had just had breakfast and were sitting in the balcony, looking at the few ships in the Strait carrying cargo to lands afar, and looking content after a good meal. A servant came refill their cups with juice, and when he was done, Stuart dismissed him for the time being.

"Go away now."

The servant nodded, looked down agitated and left quietly.

Stiles looked at his brother, sitting in the opposing end of the table, and sighed. 

"What?" Stuart raised an eyebrow.

"Don't worry about it.", Stiles said. "I'm going to do some reading on wound care for the morning."

"Boring, little brother.", Stuart smirked.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "We're the same age!"

Stuart laughed and took off, leaving for his room.

*

For the rest of the morning, Stiles practiced his White Magic by tending to some of the servants' wounds in his own chambers, where the bed hadn't been unmade in a long time. The room was tidy and tranquil, which he needed. Stilinski monarchs also held the title of Father or Mother of the kingdom, the spiritual guides of the people and leaders of the Cult of the Light. Basic white magic had been taught to both him and Stuart, the heir to the crown, in their childhood. But Stiles felt genuinely drawn to the light and studied on his own to enhance his healing and protection skills. Stuart, on the other hand, found it bland and useless, and felt more drawn to destructive power.

By midday, Stiles was tending to a girl's wrist pain when Sir Parrish knocked on his door. 

"Your Highness?"

"Yes, come in, Parrish. What's the matter?" he said, as he inspected the girl's reddened wrist. When he touched, she hissed and moved it away. "Ouch."

"The Prince wants to see you. He's waiting for you, he says it's urgent."

Stiles met Parrish's look and nodded absentmindedly. "Tell him I'll be there as soon as I'm done with what I'm doing."

Parrish nodded, bowed, and left. "Yes, Your Highness."

Stiles looked at the girl and grinned. "Okay, try to hold still."

He began casting the spell, bringing a warm white light to her wrist where he grabbed it with his own hands and slowly the girl's pain dissipated.

Five minutes later, as he was finishing and the girl stood up to leave, someone came in through the door without knocking. It was Stuart.

"What the hell is taking so long?", he inquired, apparently upset.

Stiles looked back at him from the shelf. "I was just finishing with this girl."

Stuart turned his look at her, and she quickly stared down at her own feet, blushing. "M'sorry."

"Well, well," he took a step closer to her, and she stayed in place, nervous. "and what were you doing that kept you so busy?"

"I was taking care of her wrist pain.", Stiles said, walking to the girl's side, and crossing his arms. "What's the matter?"

"I was talking to  _you_ ", Stuart said, and took the girl's wrist. 

"I- it... it's true, what h-he said."

"Stuart, enough, I was just practicing my skills."

Stuart pondered the words. "Fair enough. How about I cut her wrist again and you show me that amazing white sorcery?"

The girl took her hand back and raised her head, face pale and fear visible. 

"Stuart!"

"M- my Prince, I didn't mean t-to..."

Stuart laughed loudly. "I was just joking, brother!"

Stiles was visibly irritated. Stuart kept smirking. He turned to look at the girl again, who averted her gaze. "Leave now before I change my mind."

She took a few steps and then just ran away, and he was left with Stiles in the room.

Stiles ran his hands through his hair and went by the window above the table, giving his back to Stuart. He didn't sit, just stayed there. He sighed and absently ran his fingers through the cover of a very dusty and old book, looking up at the sea in the distance. Stuart followed and hugged him from behind, pressing himself against his back and running his nose through Stiles's neck, which was tense, but he let himself do. Stiles brought his hands up to meet Stuart's forearms, intending to have him take them off, "Stuart..."

"Yesterday, you said you liked me intimidating.", Stuart whispered in his ear, so softly it sounded like a plea.

Stiles hands' froze. He hesitated from a moment, then bit his lower lip.

"You're impossible", Stiles finally said, grinning and turning his head to see Stuart's fond expression. "We should go back to your room, see what's so urgent."

 

**Storm Cape, May 1013 AN**

In the Marshlands, the fog customarily takes over in the dead of the night and stays for the early hours of the morning, scattering the first lights. It is a land of Saurs, home of the Scaled, the old dragon lords. Their draconic culture still stays strong after the extinction of southern dragons hundreds of years ago, although its glory has dimmed. Draconic is spoken in little towns and as a local language in the capital, Storm Cape, along with the standard language of the Holy Kingdom, Vallese; and the Light isn't worshipped as much as the Cult of Fire, which honors the elements in the form of Fiery Spirits. 

Storm Cape stands ominous in the damp and salty marshes that surround it, in a homonymous cape where land invades sea and sea claims land. Narrow paths that are ill-lit with tar torches and magical fires lead the way into the capital. Deep in the night, at the gates of the city, titanic dragon fangs serve as columns and their skulls as decorations. A cart also ornamented in a draconian and fiery fashion crosses the marsh to get into the city, carrying Storm’s Cape most prominent family and the regional lords, the Argents. Lord Gerard Argent, the head of the family and Lord of Storm Cape; Lady Victoria Argent, his daughter-in-law; and Lady Allyson Argent, Victoria’s only daughter and Gerard’s heir.  

The Argents had stayed in the capital, Sylune, for a time and left last week for a short visit to Storm Cape before returning for the Council of Nobles. Gerard’s son and Allyson’s father, Sir Christopher, was a member of the Queen’s Guard and was, consequently, always in Sylune. In Storm Cape, Lady Kate Argent, Chris’s younger sister, had ruled instead of her father and seemed to be handling it quite well.

When they arrived the fires in the Argent residence burned strong in the darkness and night mist, otherwise only illuminated intermittently by the distant thundering from the Bay of Storms, where east of the city river Tornys had its mouth. Other families in the city seemed to be asleep already, but the Argents had just come and their servants were still unpacking. High in the tower, Kate and the three of them sat in a wooden table. They spoke Draconic, Kate had probably only spoken that in a long time, isolated from Valley people. 

“So, Kate, how have things been running around here… anything of note?”

“Smoothly, of course, father”, she responded. “Nothing interesting. How’s Chris enjoying himself as the royal family’s dog in the City of _Light_?”, and she made Sylune’s title look like an insult.

All the Argents were bilingual, but Allyson was accustomed to speaking Vallese from being in Sylune and having friends there anyway. In addition, she was bored and tired so her attention went elsewhere, to Kate’s hand resting in a very old book, written in Old Draconic, a language which had been dead for more than a thousand years. She couldn’t understand it, not fully, but she gathered some words from the golden letters carved in the leather worn-out cover, and read _Dominion over Dragons_ and _Bloodlust_. The Argent library was rich in such Scaled books from its Saur heritage.

Kate and Gerard talked and laughed and Victoria often chimed in. They were living in Sylune, she understood, to ingratiate themselves with the Queen. Allyson wasn’t stupid; she knew that meant she may be Queen some day, but she refused to let herself think about marrying Stuart Stilinski, whom she loathed. Her interests were elsewhere.

Kate saw her staring intently at the book and looked at her, moving it away. She addressed her niece in Vallese, teasing her from her disconnection from the conversation.

“Sweetheart, how were things in Sylune for you? Made any new friends?”

Allyson raised her eyebrows, but decided to humor her anyway.

“Actually, the capital is not that bad. It’d help clear your head from all this foggy weather.”

Victoria smiled at the comment and Gerard chuckled. Kate smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Maybe you need to learn to enjoy this weather; after all you may one day rule this city.”

Allyson didn’t want to go there, and she knew Kate would gleefully keep ruling the south anyway, so she wanted Allyson in the crown. She chose to ignore the topic.

“Archery training in the capital went well, didn’t it?”, her mother added.

Gerard intervened. “She did quite well, she’s becoming a true Argent.”

“Is that so? And, do you have any other… entertainment?”, Kate added, looking at her.

“I have friends, but my focus is on training every day. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m tired and I want to get up early tomorrow. Goodnight”

 They nodded and she left for her chambers, walking through a long and dark hall where she stumbled upon Kate’s open door. She couldn’t resist peeking in, the voices of the adults lost in the distance.

In a table, an object caught her attention. She felt drawn, so she walked towards it. There were more Old Draconic books around but she could only stare at the red orb there, with a bronze handle and coiled loops at each side, decorated with dragon heads and claws carved in the metal. She touched it and felt the object’s energy and power. She was drawn out of her trance when she heard the voices from the tower louder, so she walked away to her room, in the same corridor, and closed the door. She overheard the adults talking about Sylune affairs.

“So, what about the Boltons?” Kate asked.

“They seem reasonable for being Syns, which is good”, Gerard added. “With Deucalion’s suggestion, I see no reason Claudia wouldn’t accept our proposal.”

“That’s good. I feel bad for the poor girl, though. The Prince’s a spoiled brat who toys with power he can’t handle.”

Victoria joined the conversation. “I just wish she’d focus more on her Saur duties and was less distracted by her little Vallese friends.”

Gerard sighed, she imagined he nodded. “We’ll see how wise the Queen really is.”

Allyson knew they were talking about her. She rested her back against the door, and sighed herself, rubbing her knuckles against her closed eyelids, She automatically undressed and went to bed, covering herself in furs because the night was chilly. She knew Gerard wanted her family to enter the royal bloodline, by making her Stuart’s Queen. In addition, that would free her from being Lady of Storm Cape, the position Kate would gleefully accept. Staying in Sylune had made her more disinterested in her Saur duties, as her mother would say. She got along well with her friends there; Lady Martin, Prince Stiles, although not his brother, the Crown Prince… and the little Prince’s squire, a sweet boy named Scott.

But that night she was agitated, and even when her body caught up and she fell asleep, her mind was uneasy. Her uncertain future loomed above her, and all the Saur obligations she hadn’t thought about in Sylune haunted her in her dreams. She dreamed of the red orb, of fire and blood in ages past when the Salthariens, tyrannic Scaled from Storm Cape, the former lords before the Argents, ruled Sylune in an empire of terror. She dreamed of Belerion, the only remaining dragon, which Stuart rode among the flames.

 

**Winterfell, May 1013 AN**

The North is the largest region in the Holy Kingdom and lies beyond Clearwaters and the Valley. It’s the ancestral home of the Syns. The oldest ruling Syn family is the Hale family, lords of Winterfell; loved and famed as good rulers and fierce warriors. Tales are told throughout the North that they can turn into wolves themselves and howl at the full moon every month. The North is divided in three lands: the Dark Lands, where Winterfell stands; the Grizzly Hills, where the Boltons are a prominent family, north of Clearwaters, and Osternis, west of Clearwaters and Sylune, which is technically administrated with Grizzly Hills although it’s a region of Vallese heritage. These lands that border with Clearwaters have a history of long disputes between Syn and Saur dominance and are multicultural, with mixed towns.

In the North and a most of Grizzly Hills Iberish, the language of the North, and native tongue to the Hales, is spoken. Other than that, Vallese is common, and virtually the only language in Osternis especially surrounding Sylune and the mouth of Clearwaters. West of that, tall and rocky cliffs fend off the coastline of The Strait.

Night falls later in spring, although never very late in the North, a cold land of steppes and woods not very touched by the sun. The Hale siblings are in the woods around Winterfell staring at the full moon. Cora is sitting in a rock, sharpening her blade with a blue magical stone that gives it a permanent cold power, making it freeze whatever it cuts. Derek sits with his back against a tree, looking up at the moon with a forlorn look in his eyes, resenting arranged marriages that only ever take people you love away.

Laura looks up at the sky too, dressed in her armor from having trained all evening. She’s nicknamed the young wolf and is truly a daughter of her mother, Lady Talia Hale of Winterfell, alpha of the family.

In the distance she sees two men approaching, talking and laughing, which turn out to be Lord David Hale, her father, and Lord Peter Hale, her uncle, younger brother of Talia. They had been the ones training with her and her brothers that evening.

“Your mother wants to see you, Laura”, Peter said. “As for all of you”, he pointed at Derek and Cora, who looked back at him, “you should rest. Tomorrow you leave for Sylune.”

“I can sleep on the way, I like it here now.”, Cora blurted, with her usual disregard for what the older people have to say.

Derek smiled inwardly. “We’ll go soon, don’t worry.”

“Don’t be late, kids”, David added. “And, Laura, meet me in five minutes at the gates.”

“Yes, father”, she said. David and Peter nodded at her. Peter gave Derek and Cora one last once-over, flashing his eyes blue, and turned to leave too.

“What do you think she wants?”, Cora asked her.

“Well, what do you think?” Laura said, annoyed at Cora for some reason. “We leave tomorrow! And there’s a Council the first day of June. Even the Argents will be there.”

“Ugh, Saurs”, Cora said, making a disgusted face.

Derek chuckled and looked fondly at her. “Cora, the Princes have come of age. You know what that means, right?”

She sighed. “Yes, yes, I’m not an idiot. Marriages nobody likes.”

Laura clenched her fist. “Cora, I know mother and the Queen want the best for the Kingdom. Syn blood in the royal family has always been a dangerous gamble, but I think this could be the right timing. The Hales would enter the royal bloodline, and the Argents would be kept at bay, if what I heard is true.”

“What did you hear?”, Cora asked.

“Probably just rumors”, Derek dismissed, flashing his blue eyes at Laura too, and Laura met his stare with an icy one of her own, but whatever was left unsaid must have sunk in because she just turned back.

“It’s nothing, Cora. Just, well, be prepared… remember mother loves you.”

Laura turned their backs to them and left, the sound of her metal armor clashing against the silent night. Her cape moved with the light breeze and she carried her wolf head helmet in her hand, still clenching her other fist.

“Spit it out”, Cora said.

Derek sighed, stood up and went where he was, kneeling down to kiss her cheek. “Laura’s the heir to Winterfell. That means any of us could have to marry someone else. That’s all.”

Cora looked at him, ready to retaliate, but when she saw the soft look in his eyes she just nodded and looked away. The Hale siblings really cared for each other, even if they fought and teased each other all the time.

Derek stood up again and tapped his thigh armor, looking at Winterfell in the horizon and the white moon above it in the cloudless night sky. “We should actually get some sleep.”

Cora picked her sword and sharpening blue stone and went with him.

*

Within the gates, David was standing, with a torch in his hand and his sword sheathed in his left side, waiting for Laura. He saw his firstborn daughter come and felt proud of the woman she’d become.

“Daughter,” he said, his voice firm and his look kind, resting a hand on her shoulder armor, “your mother is waiting inside. Don’t make her wait.”

She smiled and rested her own hand over his. “I’ll get going then”, she said, and then walked forward. Before she went out of sight, though, she heard his voice once again.

“Laura,”

“Yes?”

“Always remember where you come from. No matter where you are or what you have to do, be a true Syn.”

“Yes, father”, she said, and continued walking, taking her hand to her heart.

David smiled.

*

Peter and Talia were inside, and Peter was just leaving as she came in. He was grinning and Talia seemed annoyed, something typical among them.

“I hope the capital isn’t too bad, sister. I’ll miss you.”

“I’m sure you’ll cope, Peter. Try not to cause more trouble that you solve in the meantime.”

Laura stared at him, but he just smiled back at her and left, patting her shoulder. When he closed the door behind him, Talia looked up at her daughter.

“Mother, what did you want to say?”

“Well, as you know we’re leaving tomorrow, I wanted to talk about a few things. But I actually wanted to give you something.”

“And what would that be?”

Talia motioned for Laura to handle her training sword, and she did.  “You’re a full Syn woman now. You’re my daughter, Laura, and when I’m gone, you’ll be the Lady of Winterfell and you will have to take care of your family and the fate of the North.”

“I will, mother. I will honor the Hale name I proudly carry.”

“I know you love your family, dear.” She went to the other side of the table to stand by her side and take her hand for a moment. Then Talia faced her, picking up a beautiful and magnificent sword from the table.

“But I trust you to fight if the time comes. There are dangerous peoples, both Saur and Syn, and we have to defend those we love. You and Derek have to take care of each other and your little sister.”

Laura nodded. She and Derek were twins, and she was the firstborn, but they did everything together and shared a strong bond. Only one could inherit, though, and they knew that well. It had never been easy for any of them, much less their mother, but they had come to terms with it.

Then Talia extended her hands, holding the sword by the hilt and with the palm of her other hand, offering the silvery blade which reflected the oil lamps’ light from within the room. It was sharp and shiny, and the hilt was decorated with a wolf head and fangs, in clear gray and white, with two small blue stones for the eyes. “This is Icefang, our family’s sword. It’s wielded by our family’s alpha each generation, and now I give it to you.”

Laura’s face went blank, and she almost shook, but she kept it together. “Mother… this…”

Talia smiled fondly at her. “You deserve it, Laura; you’re as fierce as any Hale and have a kind heart to add to it. Take it for me, for us.”

She agreed and took the sword, admiring it and feeling its vibrant power. She inspected it closely, finally leaving it aside to embrace her mother. They sighed contently in each other’s arms.

“Who were you talking about before, mother?”

“Peter has told me the Boltons are up to something with the Argents, or so has he heard, but it is only rumors. It’s still clear that Boltons have no honor, though, so one can never be too careful. Listen to me, Laura, when I say what I do is for the good of the Kingdom and our family.”

“I know, mother. Is this about Cora? Or Derek?”

“I’m planning with the Queen to make Cora the Princess.”

“I understand. Saur and Syn, to bring forth peace. Ewyn’s dream. But how can Cora ever…? And the Argents…”

Talia rested one of her hands on the wooden table and looked at Laura hesitant. “We don’t know. We need to hope for the best. Stuart we must be wary of too. I don’t think the kid’s as bad as some say, he’s Claudia’s son after all, but I want the best for Cora. It’s precisely because of the Argents this cannot go any other way. Maybe he and Cora can work… it’s our only hope. Claudia and I have been looking at the issue over and over. Prince Stiles will marry Allyson Argent, and Sylune will have the Saurs more in line even in the South when they return to Storm Cape. Gerard won’t take it well.”

Laura just hugged her mother again, resting her head in the crook of her neck. “I know this is the best solution. I hope Cora will understand.”

“Don’t trouble yourself with this anymore, Laura, and rest for tomorrow.”

“Yes, mother. Goodnight as well. I will see you early.”

*

Back in her chambers, Laura couldn’t sleep so she went to Derek’s room and got into bed with him. He was awake as well, and looked at her from the side, his head resting in the soft pillow and body covered in furs.

“Mother gave me Icefang.”

His expression lit, and he squeezed her shoulder. “I’m so proud of you.”

She smiled. “I know. But not all is happy news. Mother confirmed to me what we’d been thinking…”

Derek’s face fell, and he stared at the ceiling. Then he sat on the bed and lay back against the headboard, looking at the window. “Why can’t the Prince be a little more like Claudia. For once I hoped someone followed the Light more fervently.”

“Stuart’s a spoiled Brat, and Stiles may be better, but he follows him around in everything.”

Derek looked down at her, and put his hand on her head, softly caressing her hair. “That one thing I don’t blame on the kid. You know what it’s like with twins and being together. Not everybody can understand that.”

“I know”, Laura said, “…but I’ve heard… more disturbing things about their closeness.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, “and what would that be?”

Laura smirked. “Let’s say, if it was up to Stuart, he’d make Stiles his Queen”

Derek looked taken aback and horrorized, as his eyes went wide. “What?! Is Stuart that sick?”

“I don’t know, it’s all rumors. What I know is that Stuart likes to play with fire and I want the best for Cora.”

Derek still seemed in shock, but came back to the world when he heard his little sister’s name. “Saur and Syn… to bring forth peace.”

He grunted, “I just want to tear apart the Prince. I’d rather she marry an Argent.”

He chuckled at his own joke. Laura laughed at that and they soon fell back into place and sleep came. Both dreamt of the North, cold winter nights with a full moon like the one still shining in the sky, high, and of wolves running through the northern forest; led by a red-eyed alpha she-wolf with her mate, her blue-eyed brother and her three cubs behind, two yellow-eyed and one blue-eyed as well. Derek smiled happy in his sleep and held closer to his sister.

 

**Sylune, Valley Spike, May 1013 AN**

Lydia had Meredith braid her hair that morning in her chambers, so her mother wouldn’t bugger her, and went down to the library with her. Lady Lydia Martin was the beautiful and sought-after daughter of Lord Richard Martin and Lady Natalie Martin. Lord Martin was the richest noble in the North-East Spike of Sylune, the Valley Spike, opposite to the Stilinski Spike, and one of the richest in the whole city itself.

The Valley was a wide, green and fertile region that composed most of the Holy Kingdom and was home to different peoples, including Syns and Saurs but also other populations that settled in between and inhabited the Valley and its shires peacefully attempting to avoid conflict, but never succeeding.

The Martin family was of old noble blood, not Saur or Syn, from the ancient capital of the Valley, millennia before the present when Sylune was founded and the Kingdom unified. This city was Viridia and wasn’t far from Sylune, further inland in The Meadows. With the rise Sylune, most of the noble families in the Valley, especially the wealthiest, moved from Viridia and now the city is still second to only Sylune in the Valley but much quieter. It held a very old library, the biggest in the Valley at one time, with books in Old Dynic, the dead language Vallese comes from spoken in past times all around The Valley; these dealt with a variety of natural disciplines and magical wisdom alike, including the darker arts it was taboo to speak of.

The Martins had such old books with few copies in other places, even in Sylune. And Lydia was not only a beautiful face; she was a talented wizard and interested in learning of all kinds, be it the natural skills, old languages and the astral lore that came from delving in the arcane secrets of magic.

She knew how to hold herself together in public and be everything that was expected from a court lady, but there was more to her life than chatting and strolling, and she used her time to study things that caught her interest, including those that others disapprove of. Maybe, she thought, there was some appeal to the forbidden fruit after all.

Lydia opened her book and began reading. Most of it she already knew. The darker arts, necromancy, included magic that involved life and death, control over the mind and power to devastate both body and soul, power that enthralled every curious mind with enough intellect to grasp it. 

Meredith was sorting books on a shelf, trying to find the one Lydia had instructed her to. Meredith was from a town in the shire known as Dawn Fields, close to Dragon’s End, the ridge of mountains that separated the Valley from what was beyond in the East. That would be the eerie and unforgiving Moon Desert; with miles of grey sand dunes, silence and bones.

Dragon’s End held a millenary community of necromancers, the Siblings of Nyx, from which Lydia had subreptiously acquired the best quality books recently and improved a lot on her basic control of basic spells. She was no expert yet, but she would be, she was convinced.

“Is this the one you wanted, my lady?” Meredith asked.

“Yes, thank you, Mer.”, Lydia said, nodding and taking the book.

“What does the title read?”, Meredith asked, looking at her and pointing at the golden words on the cover.

Lydia’s eyes widened at her curiosity. Meredith was usually quiet and seemed to be somewhere else most of the time, but it was good to remember she was actually brighter and more observant than most servants. She considered her a friend.

“That’s not the title, actually. That’s the source… all their books are marked like this. This one is from the Siblings of Nyx.”

Meredith took his hand off and shivered. She looked at her directly, squeezing her hand tightly; sometimes she was unpredictable.

“Lydia, why do you read so much about them? Trust me when I say nothing good comes out of Dragon’s End. My parents were from the last town before the mountains, Dawn Gallows. I saw them desecrating the graveyard for corpses.” She was more distressed as she spoke.

“Meredith, calm down”, Lydia reassured her, “I’m not going to take anybody’s ancestors from the graveyard. But they study death, and why would it be more dangerous to know than not to if it is out there?”

Lydia knew little towns were superstitious, but there’s not much she could say to comfort her. Meredith brought her hands to her own skirt and grabbed at the fabric as she bit her lower lip, and looked away.

“I wish you had half the interest for lords that suit you than you have for the Prince. I just don’t want you to end up hurting yourself because you do as he says. He’s just using you.”

Lydia knew that Meredith knew the book was for Stuart too, but she genuinely had interest in the subject as well, aside from her interest in Stuart. Lydia was angered at the suggestion.

“Meredith, I don’t think it’s your place to make judgments like that!”

Lydia looked at Meredith, that looked ashamed and on the verge of tears, and understood she just cared for her. Lydia got up and had her do the same, hugging her. She whispered in her ear, soothing her. “Sorry. I know I don’t have many chances of being Stuart’s Queen; but trust me, he’s not using me. I know what I’m doing, and I’m not insane. Neither is he, he’s just… hard to deal with. There are apparently nice people in the Council that are true serpents. I wish it wasn’t all such a masquerade.”

Meredith nodded and they stayed like that for a while. “It’d just be so much easier if you corresponded Jackson. Or the little Prince.”

Lydia sighed, “It’s complicated.”

After the incident, Lydia read with her for the rest of the morning, making notes and comments and then taking the book back to her chambers. She knew Lord Jackson Whittemore was coming by at midday and wanted to be prepared for going out to take a stroll in her District’s numerous gardens.

*

Jackson woke up that morning at home, in the Valley Saur Spike, pointing at the East, where the Whittemore residence was. He had Isaac, his squire, shave him and then put on his shining new armor, in both gold and olive colors. Green themed armors were typical of families of Saur heritage, such as the Whittemores. Their ancestral home was the shire of Rocky Coast, east of Sylune and the transition between the Valley and the Marshlands, and consequently rich in Saur population that belonged to the Valley and spoke in Vallese. The Whittemores had been Sylunite for almost as much time as the Martins and their name had only been blemished recently.

Jackson Whittemore was a bastard, legitimized by royal decree from Queen Claudia IV as a favor to the Whittemore marriage. The Whittemores had it all, vast amounts of money, health, good looks… but Lady Rose Whittemore couldn’t bear children, or so was rumored, and one day Lord Andrew Whittemore came to Sylune with a baby. He never told anyone who the mother was, and he raised him as his own children, but he wasn’t a very good father – he believed luxury was enough to raise a kid.

Lady Whittemore always resented her adoptive son, a constant reminded of the shame brought upon her by her husband, and even if Claudia’s decision had been the best for the family honor, it was still beyond her to raise the kid. Jackson, in turn, wasn’t a very loving child either, resenting his parents for their loveless marriage and for having him be a bastard. He was still determined to not let that interfere with his goals, though.

“I’ll be leaving now, father. I’m taking Lydia Martin for a stroll.”

Jackson left his residence and crossed the stone bridge that connected the East and North-East districts. It ran directly above the city’s main gates, the ones that led to the Path of Ashes, the biggest road in the Kingdom which connected Winterfell and Sylune. A thousand years ago, the last Saltharien monarch, Aeron VII, freed his crazed dragon, Nessaria, against the Northern Kingdom in a desire to exterminate all Syns. His plan backfired, and the dragon, in a frenzy, decimated both armies and burned the Valley down to Sylune, which he then also set in flames, killing many small peoples and nobles families alike; including Aeron himself.

When hope was lost, history accounts, a young Holy Mage from Sylune with old Saur blood managed to soothe Nessaria and tame her, and would become her rider. He was no other than Ewyn Stilinski, the first monarch of the Stilinski dynasty that lasted until the present. He vowed to unify Syns and Saurs to end war in the Kingdoms and readmitted Syns in the Valley, leading to the present day. Today, Claudia IV rules in Sylune and Belerion, a direct descendant of Nessaria, is kept in the Royal Palace, the last dragon.

Jackson gazes at the horizon, under the warm midday sun, as the grey path loses itself in the distance, and thinks of Northern lands and savage Syns. He feels no sympathy for Syns, but neither does he feel belonging in his own family. He has always felt a misfit, but he hides it well. He dislikes other Saurs almost as much.

Jackson looked back at the bridge. “Do you think she’ll like the necklace?”

“They’re beautiful, my Lord.”

“Of course she’ll do”, Jackson said to himself, and kept walking proud.

He crossed the bridge and soon arrived at Lydia’s District and her own residence. He got past the guards and Isaac stayed outside.

The servants in the Martin residence warned Lydia of his presence and soon she and Meredith came down the central staircase in the reception.

Lydia walked down the stairs joylessly, but she smiled nevertheless when she got down and kissed Jackson to greet him.

“You’re so beautiful today”, he said, “I’ve gotten you a present.”

She raised her eyebrow. “Have you?”

He nodded and motioned with his pointer finger for Isaac to come in. He quickly came, handed Lydia the necklace and bowed awkwardly, looking at the ground before taking some steps back to fall back in place at Jackson’s side.     

She looked at it, unfazed, and then handed it to Meredith.

“Thank you a lot. It must’ve costed a fortune.”

“Well, that’s not really something that bothers our families.”

“Most certainly. Too bad we can’t buy more influence in the Council.”

He grinned. “You’re always so concerned about boring topics. Aren’t you going to put it on?”

“If you insist… Mer, put on the necklace, please.”

Meredith ensued as Jackson looked sideways awkwardly, holding his helmet closer to his body. When she was done, he smiled and she returned it, and then they began walking outside as she led the way to the door.

Soon they were strolling through the Valley Spike gardens, one of the most beautiful in all of Sylune, filled with colorful flowers and the sound of singing birds. Jackson spoke first.

“You haven’t said anything about my new armor.”

She squinted her eyes at him as she looked sideways. “I guess that costed a fortune as well?”

He sighed, “You can’t cut me some slack, can you.”

She stopped walking and turned to face him. “Jackson, I know why you’ve come today.”

He stopped as well, and let out a deeper sigh, suddenly finding a small stone the most interesting thing in the world, as he played with it with his foot. “Well, yes, our fathers met yesterday.”

“We’re going to be betrothed”, he said, simply, and she nodded. She looked away and then back at him.

“I’ve known this would happen for a long time. But, Jackson, you know this doesn’t change anything, don’t you?”

“I was hoping it would. Some day.”, he said, grabbing her by the wrist, and thumbing at a small thin silver bracelet with a black onyx on its center. “I’m not making you, but we have to marry; and so will your stupid King with someone else, I bet your friend Allyson… and you’re saying you’ll never move on?”

“Do you want me to lie about how I feel?”

“I want you to be reasonable.”, he said, standing closer to her and bringing her wrist up to his chest, squeezing harder. She refused the advances and moved her hand away suddenly, making the loose bracelet fall off.

“Sorry”, he said, and went down to pick it, inspecting it in the process. She brought her hand and bare wrist to her face and rubbed at her strawberry blonde hair, making a small mess of that side of it.

“Be more careful”, she spit out, taking it back and wearing it again.

“Who gave you that? Doesn’t seem like your mother’s taste in jewelry.”

“I don’t need anybody to give me things. It belonged to my father. And it’s not for me, actually. It’s for Stuart.”

Jackson’s expression became furious and his voice came out dry and rough. “That’s right there what I was talking about. Stop making a fool of yourself, you’re never going to be his Queen.”

“You’re the one being a jealous fool. Why are you so sure who the Queen will be? You’re as clueless on politics as is your father short on influence.”

“For Light’s sake, Lydia!”

“Besides, not everything that shines is there to look pretty”, she said, looking down briefly at his olive chestplate, “this bracelet has meaning and true power. But my mother hates it for some reason.”

“Why can’t you listen and have your family put some sense in your head? They only want the best for you.”

“Just stop! Everyone of you thinks you’re so clever and that I’m just a little girl that doesn’t know how to take care of herself. But you just hate Stuart for no reason.”

“Oh believe me I have reasons to hate the spoiled brat! He even got you into demonic magic. Do you want people who care about you to stand idle while you ruin yourself?”

“I’m not ruining myself!”, she screamed at him, outraged. “If any of you truly cared about me you’d see this is what I really want. But seeing as you’re so open-minded, I may as well explain it to a wall.”

“Well explain away, I’m listening”, he said, taking a deep breath and placing his hands in his hips, then motioning with one hand for her to carry on. She raised an eyebrow.

“Stuart’s not the way you picture him; I know him, he’s intelligent and funny, he just has a very odd sense of humor. And there’s nothing wrong with being interested in necromancy! Why wouldn’t I be? I like to know all kinds of magic. Are you that superstitious?”

He sighed. “I’m not, but you know I can’t be happy you two are friends. You won’t change my opinion on him. The guy’s an asshole to everyone.”

“So are you!”

“That’s not true! And well, why do you complain anyway, apparently you’re into that. Is it because I’m a bastard?”

She squinted her eyes and almost snapped at him for the suggestion, but just spoke very low. “I’m just into more than meets the eye. When you understand that we can be friends again.”

She tried to walk away, but he grabbed her by the arm and looked in her eyes, afraid. “Why can’t we just be happy together?”

A hint of sadness reached her eyes. “Jackson, I know we’re more than friends. We get each other. We don’t have to fake as much as we do in front of anybody else. So why would you do this to me?”

“Because I love you”, he said, hesitant, and looked at a tree.

“That’s the very reason you should stand with me.”, she said softly, and left.

*

Jackson went back home, defeated, pondering Lydia’s words. He’d never be able to get along with Stuart, and certainly Stuart wouldn’t spontaneously stop hating him, or everybody, overnight. But maybe he should pay attention to the Council that was coming up and why it was important for them. Politics had always bored Jackson, but he wasn’t naïve to think they weren’t vital and that their families were the last vote in Sylune. At this point, the Prince would either marry an Argent or a Hale. He just hoped Lydia would fall in love with him some day.

“Isaac, do you think I’m shallow?”

Isaac looked at him and his face went blank.

“Hmm… no, my lord, I think you’re very insightful.”

He sighed. “Thanks”, he said, and then patted him on the shoulders.

*

Lydia got back home with Meredith, and crossed a great wooden door to get to the dining room where she sat with her parents. They had a light chat about her imminent betrothal to Jackson and the upcoming Council, but they paid no attention when she tried to voice her opinion.

She didn’t even mention her morning reading, because she already knew how their parents would react. But they couldn’t forbid her, so she just finished her desert and left for her room. Meredith was away, probably sleeping, tired after all the morning work.

She sat down and decided to write a letter to Allyson and send it with a dove, it would arrive in a few days, and if she wrote back soon they’d talk to each other before Allyson arrived again in Sylune. Her friend was away in the Marshlands for a short trip, and then all the Argents would be back for the Council on the 1st of June. She took her feather from her ink pot and rested her hand on the blank piece of paper.

“I wish you were here, Ally…”

 

**Sylune, Royal Palace, May 1013 AN**

In the Throne Room, the magnificent and colored glass windows filtered the rays of the morning sun. The vaulted ceiling was high and filled with images of prominent people of the past: nobles, heroes, Stilinski monarchs…; there was no trace of any Saltharien. The Royal Palace, built in the Inner District of the city, wasn’t as old as the city itself, because the previous one was destroyed a thousand years ago when the dragon Nessaria devastated it. Sylune in the Saltharien Empire had a court with a draconic flavor and the Scaled and Saur peoples were favored.

The new one was rebuilt by Ewyn Stilinski, and the unified throne had only been sat by monarchs that ruled Syns and Saurs justly, and the people of the Valley admired his dynasty for his wisdom and devotion to peace and White Magic. The Cult of the Light, whose white shine was dimmed by the bloody fires of the dragons in the Valley, had become the prominent religion in the Holy Kingdom since then. The Saltharien worship of the Fiery Spirits was restricted to the Marshlands, and like Old Draconic and Scaled power, waned with the passing years. In the North, the worship of the Icy Spirits is old and strong, but since Syns returned to Grizzly Hills and the Valley many follow the path of the light as well.

The religion was personified in priests and priestesses, a clergy of White Mages that preached in the streets, tended to the sick and wounded and traveled to evangelize to all places of the Kingdom and beyond the sea. Chapels were a place of worship and some had assigned mages.

The head of the clergy were the Stilinski monarchs themselves, in this era Queen Claudia, Mother of the realm and Keeper of the peace. She had strived to uphold the good in her reign, spread the light and resolve the ever-existing tensions between Syns and Saurs. She had also provided the realm with an heir for when her days were over, Prince Stuart, and it pained her the most that he didn’t share her passion for the Light, unlike her other beloved son, Prince Stiles.

She was sitting in the Throne of Ewyn right now, hands clasped in a short prayer, and head low. She opened her eyes when she finished and pressed her hand to her chest, a symbol of respect for the Light.

The high wooden doors at the end of the long room opened and King John appeared with Sir Parrish and Sir Christopher by his side. They were the top commanders in the Queen’s guard, the Royal Family’s personal defense and escort. The King strolled decidedly towards the throne, to greet his Queen and Wife. John had formerly been a knight to Claudia’s father, but then he married the Queen in a marriage that not all of the Sylunite elite approved because of the circumstances. Royal marriages are rarely approved of. Claudia and him got their way, in the end.

The three of them stopped when they reached the steps to the throne platform, and the Queen rose. Christopher and Parrish knelt and the Queen came down to place a kiss on the King’s cheek, then they both smiled.

“Hello, Sir Christopher. Hello, Sir Parrish.”

They rose and nodded.

“Good morning, your Holiness”, Christopher replied.

“The Princes are here”, Parrish quickly added, looking at her.

“I’ve told them we’d meet them at the Lair.”

“Let’s go, then”, she replied, and took his hand. They began walking and soon she looked back at the knights. “You can remind here. Come tell me if anybody else comes.”         

“Yes, your Holiness”, Parrish said, and they left through a door on the sides.

*

Stiles and Stuart had come from the Stilinski Spike of Sylune, where the royal family traditionally let the heir to the throne live alone when they were coming of age. They had traveled to the Inner District through a very long bridge over the city, from which they left behind the Strait and could look down at Clearwaters and the low city. Every one of the six noble districts had such bridges to connect them with the Inner District.

When they arrived, Parrish informed the King and Queen while the two boys went down to Belerion’s Lair, a pit where the Stilinski dragons were kept, fed and trained. Belerion was normally chained, so he was angry unless Claudia came and talked to him, when he became calm and easy.

Stuart noticed his mother wasn’t there, because just as he entered the pit the beast roared at him and sent a gust of wind his way, forcing him to stop and press with his armor boots hard not to be unstabilized. He hit Stiles’s chestplate but Stiles managed to hold him. “Careful”, he said.

“Stupid beast”, Stuart said, sitting where he was, away from Belerion’s reach. “How am I supposed to be his master one day?”

Belerion kept looking at Stuart through the serpentine slits in his yellow eyes. He was an enormous animal with forest green scales, white claws in each of his four extremities, a long green tail and membranous wings of an ever darker shade. His head was about the height of a young man. His fauces were open and his many pointy fangs were showing menacing; but then he looked at Stiles and closed it slowly, intrigued.  

“You can’t tame a dragon and you know it”, Stiles said, moving forward, much to Stuart’s surprise, making a beeline for the animal. “But you can become his ally.” Stiles cast a spell that summoned a small globe of light on his hand, and the dragon seemed curious about it, so he moved his head forward until he was right in front of Stiles. Stiles then closed the distance and patted Belerion’s head scales, scattering the light as the beast closed his eyes and let himself do. It looked almost like he was smiling.

“Is that a mind spell? Have you disoriented it?”

“It’s him, it’s not a thing. And no, that was just a light! Can’t you tell?”

“Right”, Stuart said, uninterested and looking away.

“You’re just annoyed I have useful magic.”, Stiles said and smirked.

Stuart chuckled. “Enjoy your little tricks, your magic never amounts to anything real. Light looks pretty, dark magic destroys.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes, “and what is it exactly a King has to destroy?”

Stuart huffed. “Don’t be so naïve and think a little wrist pain is the biggest of a King’s problems.”, he stopped, and then deadpanned, “his enemies.”

“

The Queen and the King soon came to the dragon’s pit and the Royal Family was together. The King hugged both of his sons and the Queen kissed them on the cheek, smiling as she finally pulled Stiles’s ear.

“You seem to be taller every month. How have you been by the Strait?”

“Awesome!”, Stiles said, smiling at his mother, “the morning breeze feels so good.”

“I know, right?”, his father chuckled, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Stuart, son, what have you been up to?”

Stuart looked at his father and grinned. “Well, you know, the usual. Training and studying.”

His father nodded. “Good, good. I see Belerion’s asleep?”

Stuart bit his cheek and looked at the dragon. “Yeah… Stiles is pretty good with him.”

“Oh, if only you let your brother teach you a thing or two”, Claudia said.

Stuart snorted. “Sure thing, mother.”

“Well, now that he’s asleep, we should go eat something. Catch up?”, Stiles said, half-hugging his mother and urging her back up the stairs, ignoring his brother’s discourtesy.

“That’s a good idea”, she said.

John did the same with Stuart behind, and they followed them back to the Palace. “So, tell me, how’s your new armor working?”

*

When they were done eating, everyone went their separate ways. The Queen said her goodbyes and left the room only after Stiles had stood up to kiss her in the cheek and hug her again. 

When she went back to her room, Melissa was there. She was her handmaiden and confidant; her best friend, truly. Melissa was a poor woman from Pentos, the city-state beyond the Strait in the West. Claudia had met her back in 995 AN, when she was pregnant and so was Melissa; the father had left to never be seen again. The Queen took her under her wing and her son, Scott, had been born in Sylune and was Stiles’s squire, who stayed in the Royal Palace. They had been inseparable, that is, when Stiles wasn’t with Stuart, ever since; but Stuart and Scott didn’t seem to get along.

When Claudia sat in the bed, Melissa looked at her from the chair and smiled. “So, how are the little Princes?”

“Good as always”, Claudia said, and she sighed. “Am I a terrible person for wanting Stuart to be more like Stiles?”

Melissa chuckled. “Most certainly not!”

Claudia joined her laughter. “Stiles is so patient with him. I hope they take what is coming well…”

Melissa’s face became more neutral, and she nodded. “The Council is the 1st of June, isn’t it?”

“Yes”, Claudia said, “and the weddings will probably be in September, with the coming of Fall. It’s when Ewyn was born, a good omen.” 

“We’ll see.”, Melissa said, and sat beside her to take her hand in her own.

*

King John was strolling with Christopher and Parrish down the Palace’s halls, idly chatting. He had just been laughing at a joke from Chris about Northerners, and then they talked about the Princes. He looked at Parrish.

“You take such well care of them, son.”

“I owe it all to you”, he said, grinning sheepishly.

“No,”, John said, reaching for his shoulder and squeezing it strongly, “you earned it all. You have so much promise, and you’re great with your fire learnings too. Not everyone can do both.”

“Thanks, your Majesty.”

“I’ve told you already not to call me that! When I’m with you two, I’m still a knight.”, he chuckled.

“Once a knight, always a knight”, Chris said, smiling.

John nodded and looked back at Parrish.

“I know it’s much to ask, but Parrish, I want you to make a promise to me. When I’m gone, I want you to defend the Princes like I would.”

“I will do everything in my power, Sir.”, he said solemnly, and brought a hand to his heart, “I swear by the Light.”

John pulled him for a hug. “I know I can count on you.”

After that, the three men resumed their slow walk.

“So, Chris, I heard our little Allyson is coming back soon. How’s she doing in the Marshes?”

*

Stuart was left with Stiles in the table and got up soon after he finished drinking his cup of Osternis Wine. At that time, Scott came in, but saw Stuart and stopped walking – his clothes were dirty from working all day, a greyish shirt, short pants and some used shoes. 

“I’m sorry, my Prince, I can come back later.”

“He was just leaving,”, Stiles said, “come in, Scott.” He got up.

Stuart stood still for a second, inspecting Scott, looking at him like a small insect. He stopped at his eyes. “Be sure not to get lice”, he said, and left.

Scott rolled his eyes and then Stiles came and hugged him. “Don’t mind him. He’s meeting a certain Lady now.” Stiles sighed as they separated.

“You still have it bad, don’t you?”

“Well, yes. I just don’t get it. Why does she like Stuart so much and not me?”

“I have no clue why she likes him in the first place.”, he said smiling.

Stiles smacked his head. “That’s my face you’re talking about!”

“Aw!”

Stiles smirked. “Don’t complain. I have good news for you.”

Scott rubbed the back of his head and raised an eyebrow. “I hope it’s worth it.”

“Allyson returns next week! My parents told me over lunch. Hey, have you already eaten?”

“Hmm… actually I’m starving”, he responded with a sheepish grin.

“Help yourself”, Stiles said, pointing with his hand at all the food in the table.

“You’re the best.”, he said, and immediately jumped at the food. “So, have they told you how she’s doing there?”

“I think she was actually pretty bored. But… she’ll be here soon enough.”

“Why do you say that like you’re announcing an execution?”, Scott said, around a mouthful of crumby chunks of bread.

“It’s not her, it’s the Council.”

“Oh.”

“Are you worried who you’ll marry?”

“Well, I’m more concerned about how Stuart will take it. And about the Northerners coming. And the Argents. Allyson is fine, but her family…”

“I admit Gerard’s creepy”, Scott said. 

“I don’t like him”, Stiles said, “he’s always thought he’s better than my father because his family had more money. Such a Scaled old man.”

“You’re a Saur!”, Scott said.

“And a Stilinski!”, Stiles said, with fake pride, raising his chin in jest.

Scott chuckled. “So a Saur. Hey, what are you doing this afternoon? I have some free time. We should hang out, I haven’t seen you in all week. I’ve trained a lot, barely fallen off the horse at all during practice.”

Stiles smiled. “Yeah, we should catch up. I could show you some spells I’ve been working on. I’m getting good! Do you want to go see Belerion?”

Scott’s mouth fell open. “Hell yeah!”

*

“Parrish, we’ll be fine on our own for now. You may go.”

“Yes, your Highness”, and he bowed. “My Lady.” Parrish took Lydia’s hand and placed a soft kiss on it, looking up to meet her eyes with his clear green ones, and she smiled politely, managing not to blush. He turned and left, and Stuart kept smirking as he saw Parrish take a few steps away.

He and Lydia began walking in the opposite direction, heading for the Royal Library, the biggest in Sylune. For a while, only their steps were heard in the warm, yellow corridors. They crossed one which was on a second floor and open to the gardens in the outside, and Lydia took a second to stop and contemplate the view.

“Hey,” Stuart said, stopping too. “Let’s to go the library now. Today is a quiet day. We can see sunset here later, it’s much more of a view than afternoon glow.”

“Yes, okay”, she said, smiling as they resumed their walk. “You know, I’ve been looking forward to see you.”

“I know”, he said without much interest.

“I’ve got the book we were talking about last time.”

He suddenly moved his head sideways, and Lydia smiled inwardly, satisfied with herself for getting his interest.

“Is that so?”, he said, on a voice much more neutral than his expression.

“The one by the Nyctians”, she said gleefully. “I’ve began reading and taking some notes.”

He nodded and soon they arrived at the library. Stuart opened the door for her and went inside afterwards. They went to the opposite end, where Master Harris was sitting writing what seemed to be a letter.

“Harris, take the Lady and me to… the section”, he grinned, “if you’re so kind.”

Master Harris was a famous alchemist, and served as the library’s administrator, taking in new orders of books and organizing them all; as well as teaching the young nobles in the court. He had been Stiles’s bane for most of his childhood, for much of Stuart’s amusement. He also kept the keys to the forbidden book section.

They usually went there, so they were used to the seemingly labyrinthic path between the shelves, basically a maze, with a dead end that wasn’t one in as much as it had a hidden door. Master Harris left them there with the keys. “Enjoy the wisdom. Few people like you know what’s interesting any more. I’m surprised they know how to read. Lydia, how were your last astral tomes?”

“Wonderful, as always, Master Harris. Thank you very much.”

“Always a pleasure”, he said smiling wickedly, and disappeared.

“What’s so fun about astral magic? Isn’t it all boring enchantments on how to make invisible ink?”

Lydia raised her eyebrow. “I have an idea. Let me show you. Try to cast anything, summon a little generic light or something.”

Stuart sighed exasperated. “Okay…” He opened his hand, rested her elbow on the table and said the word for light in old Dynic.

“ _Lux_ ”

“ _Nox_ ”, Lydia whispered immediately, looking intently at his hand. _Nox_ was another astral spell used to summon darkness; that is, to block light in an environment with too much illumination, clearly not their dark room – but she was using it to focus on countering Stuart’s spell, and she did. Stuart’s light spell didn’t get further than a few sparks and then the only he amounted to was tensing his forearm tendons and almost cracking his finger joints.

“What in hell did you do?”

“It’s a silencing spell. You can’t cast anything if I don’t want to, now. Still think it’s useless?” She chuckled.

“Oh, shut up”, he said, rolling his eyes, and took the book they were talking about earlier from her hands. “Let’s see if there’s anything good in here.”

They studied for the rest of the afternoon and much into the evening, reading and writing, laughing and sometimes standing close to each other, with Lydia’s forearms brushing his and her fingers caressing his hands when she pointed at this or that word in the book. At one point, they stared for a long time without saying anything. It was easy for her to get lost in his whiskey eyes and the hours went by in the blink of an eye.

She cleared her throat. “So, Stuart, actually there’s something else I had for you.”

He smiled this time. “What is it?”

“I got this for you”, she said. She took from her dark blue dress pocket the silver bracelet with the onyx gemstone in the middle.

He took it and inspected it closely, gaping. “Wow. Do you know where this Onyx is from?”

“Dragon’s End?”

“Well, yes, but on the far end, close to the Moon Desert. This is really valuable. Thanks, Lydia”, Stuart said, then pecked her in the cheek.

She blushed. “Y-… you’re, welcome.”, she said, smiling awkwardly.

He returned her smile. “You’re such a good friend. At least someone in the realm shares my interests.”

She nodded. “Well… speaking of the realm. Has your mother told you anything about the Council?”

“Not a word yet. And I really have no interest in having any of it. I don’t want to marry anyone.”

Lydia looked taken aback. “Isn’t there a single Lady in the court you’re interested in? But that’s impossible!”

He turned his head to look at her and glared. “Lydia, drop the act. My brother never ceases to remind me, I know you’re no fool. You know I have no real interest in any lady, or lord for that matter; court or not.”

“But.. who are you interested in, then?”

He sighed. “Lydia, I can trust you right?”

“Of course, my Prince!”

“Aren’t you far too observant not to know where my interests lie?”

She swallowed. “Where mine… don’t?”

He nodded, face stern.

She sighed and looked away. “You know that will never work. Nobody would understand.”

He laughed. “And you do?”

She looked at him tenderly. “I understand what craving for the impossible feels like.”

*

Lydia left when it got dark and the Royal Family came together again for dinner. It was a lavish meal for a quiet evening, and soon everyone found themselves saying goodnight and leaving for their private chambers.

Stiles went to his own, where Scott was already about to leave and they told each other goodbye for the night as well. Other than Scott’s light steps, nothing was to be heard in the silent halls of that part of the Royal Palace at night. Until a few minutes later, that is. Stiles had just gotten in bed, in only his beige short undergarments and a loose plain cotton shirt. He heard the knocking at the door as he pulled up a thin blanket, and didn’t get up because he already knew who it was.

Stuart opened the door silently, peeking inside, and closed it just as carefully. He locked it from the inside and tiptoed to the bed. He sat to remove his clothes and got inside, settling behind Stiles and embracing him. Stiles kept looking at the stars through the window on the other side of the room, his back to Stuart.

“Hey”, Stuart whispered, placing his hand in Stiles’s neck and poking at his cheek from where he was. He moved it down to press his own head closer, burying it in the crook of his brother’s neck and breathing warmly and contented. “I’ve missed you.”

Stiles smiled. “We had dinner together, remember?”

Stuart mumbled something onto his neck, but he couldn’t make anything other than _shut up_. 

Stuart’s hand, which was resting in Stiles’s waist, began trailing up his side and dragging the hem of his shirt up with it, but Stuart was in no hurry, softly caressing his skin.

Stiles brought his own hand down to take his brother’s, steadying it. “We shouldn’t do anything tonight. And, we still need to talk about the Council.”

Stuart let out an exasperated sigh against the back of his neck, and Stiles shivered but was resolved to finally get Stuart to converse.

“Can’t I get a break today?”, he said.

“You always make excuses”, Stiles replied, in a hushed tone. “Stuart, have you even given it any thought who your wife will be? The future of the Kingdom is going to be decided in a few days. Show some interest, you’ll be the King, for the Light’s sake.”

“I don’t want to think about it”, he explained, “But it’s not like I’m not clear on what I want.”

“And that is…? Queen Lydia, maybe?”

Stuart started mouthing at Stiles’s neck and Stiles melted, at a loss for coherent thoughts and letting out rough but low sounds. He started licking it with the tip of his tongue, slightly, as he used his hand to get beneath the fabric of Stiles’s undergarments, cupping his balls.

“I’d never do that to you”, Stuart whispered into his ear as he sucked on his earlobe. “I shall have no lady for Queen.”

“Stu-… stop, we’ll get caught…”, Stiles said, and his voice came out ragged. Stuart moved his hand up and began feeling his brother’s dick that was hardening at the contact.

“I’ve locked the door”, Stuart said, secure, and thrusted forward, getting closer to Stiles and allowing him to feel the outline of his hard dick against the cheek of his ass. “It’s just you and me, like always.”

Stiles cupped Stuart’s hand over the fabric of his underwear and squeezed hard. “It’s not right…”

Stuart thrusted again, hissing and letting out another deep breath that made Stiles feel tingly again. “It’s never wrong if it’s you. Only you.”

Stuart shifted and straddled Stiles to take off his underwear, discarding it with the blanket; the night was warming up anyway. He also took off his shirt. Stiles looked at his brother’s naked chest and the lines of his abs with blown eyes. He went down smiling back at Stiles and licked a stripe up the full length of his dick, teasing it, and then leaving it to chill against the night air. Stiles felt ecstatic, cheeks flushed pink. “Stuart…”

“I’ll take care of you”, he said, and grabbed Stiles’s length, stroking it with intent. Stiles gaped and arched his neck, burying the back of his head in the pillow and letting out a single low grunt. “Please, don’t stop.”

Stuart complied and kept stroking him at a steady rhythm, then going down on him and taking him in as far as he got in one go. He looked up at Stiles, but Stiles was too lost for him to make eye contact. Stuart kept sucking him up and down his length as Stiles’s moans became louder and louder. Stiles’s body was squirming, so Stuart placed both his hands at the sides of his hips to still him and took him in deeper. Stiles’s hands clutched to the mattress and he tried to thrust up into his brother’s throat, but his grip was strong and all he could do was lie there.

Stuart stopped for a moment to catch his breath, taking Stiles’s cock out of his mouth and humming as he licked around the head and his slit, holding it in place with one hand. As he ran the tip of his tongue down, resuming fast strokes, Stiles let out a big moan.

“For Light’s sake, Stuart, I… I’m going to come!”

Stuart looked up at him smirking and hushed him, pressing his other hand against Stiles’s mouth as he went down on him fully. Stiles’s eyes widened as he came inside his brother’s mouth and he let out a muffled grunt against his palm. Now that Stuart only had one hand down to pin his hip he managed to thrust a bit into his mouth, riding his orgasm through the aftershocks. Stuart didn’t seem to mind, going with it and then swallowing.

Stuart got up and collapsed over Stiles in a passionate kiss, allowing his brother to taste himself as Stiles clutched desperately to him. Stuart ran his hands down his sides and his thighs, pressing lightly and spreading them apart further to place his own knees in between.

They rolled over in the bed as they made out and they ended up facing each other, side by side, panting. Stuart kissed Stiles’s forehead and motioned for him to turn around, nesting him again against his chest. Stuart was painfully hard and had found no relief yet, so he pressed against his brother’s cleft and spoke softly to his ear. “Stiles…”

Stuart stroked himself a few times and then he started tentatively circling around Stiles’s hole. He moved his fingers from the skin behind his balls to it, pushing one inside shallowly and moving it around, stretching.

“Go, I can take it”, Stiles said. Stuart brought his other hand from Stiles’s shoulder to his neck, resting it over the skin of his throat and he placed his head against the crook Stiles’s neck, biting teasingly there. “You always tell me not to be impatient”, he whispered.

Stiles sighed pleased, still overstimulated from his climax, and let Stuart work him open slowly until he was taking three fingers perfectly. When he was satisfied he pressed his dick against Stiles’s entrance and pushed in, feeling it slide inside warm and smooth as the grip around Stiles’s throat tightened. “You’re so good to me, Stiles.”

Stuart sped up the rhythm as he tried to get impossibly closer to Stiles, running his hands down his chest and thigh. He started kissing his neck and then his jaw, coming up to meet his own brother’s lips. Stiles was making soft noises again. Stuart was so worked up from before that he was close, and his thrusts became uneven and deeper as he approached his orgasm.

“Stiles”, he said, as he bit at his brother’s lower lip and pressed his hands to his belly and hips, grunting and pushing all the way in and then stilling. He came inside his brother copiously and after a few seconds he resumed shallow and slow thrusts. He pressed his nose against Stiles’s cheek again, with a fond smile in his face. He opened his eyes and found Stiles’s, an exact copy of his own, staring back at him as well.

“Only you”, Stuart said tenderly.

They soon drifted off to a quiet sleep and Stuart rose early, to leave before anybody would find out he wasn’t in his room and panic. With the first lights hinting in the horizon and just as he was about to leave, believing Stiles asleep, he heard his voice from behind.

“Stuart,… you know this can’t last forever, despite what we wanted.”

Stuart stopped on his feet but didn’t look back.

“I’ll be King. I always get what I want”, he ascertained.

Stiles didn’t respond, and Stuart opened the door. He finally caved in and briefly looked back at Stiles, who looked troubled staring at the ceiling, as if a thousand thoughts were crossing his mind.

“Somehow”, Stuart said, looking at the distance in the hall, and closed the door. His voice was much gentler now. “I promise.”

 

**Sylune, Low District, May 1013 AN**

In the lower parts of Sylune, the sun of the late evening was still hovering above the coast in the south. The people gathered around the river banks and in the western shores the sandy ground ended and streets of poorer houses began. That was one of the dirtiest parts of Sylune, nicknamed the Red Shore for its numerous brothels and gambling taverns. Children of the small peoples ran around playing hide and sick in places their parents didn’t approve of, and street preachers talked incessantly about the Light and a life free of vices, serving the Realm.

“The Light bless you”, the preacher said to a bywalker concealed by a cloak that went through the streets with three others like him. He looked at the preacher and replied with “May Death take its toll”, a Nyctian saying that made the preacher freeze in place while the men disappeared in the crowd.

“Does he have to terrorize even an unknown little man?”, Scott said.

Stuart glared at him from beneath his cloak. “I can hear you. Also, all that man was doing was talking pointless rules. You wouldn’t know, though.”

Scott huffed.

“Can you two give me a break”, Stiles said, hushing them.

“We’re here, anyway”, Stuart said, and waited as Parrish went inside. He got back out in a few moments and nodded, going back inside. The three of them followed.

It was a riverside brothel, but they were meeting there in secrecy with Deaton, a mysterious wealthy merchant and surgeon from Pentos. He served as a consultant and doctor for many noble families in Sylune and knew a lot about natural remedies. He traded in herbs and other goods and traveled a lot for this reason. He would officially pay visit to the Royal palace the next day, but he had agreed to meet with Stuart and Lydia before, in secrecy.

As they went into a room apparently used for the administration of the place, where Deaton was sitting, from another door four enshrouded people appeared. As they took off their cloaks, they revealed to be Lydia, Meredith, Jackson and Isaac.

“Well, we’re all here then, it seems”, Deaton said.

They greeted each other and Stuart, Stiles and Lydia sat down in front of Deaton, who was sitting in the biggest chair behind a table. Stiles smiled at Lydia but she seemed more interested in the carpet on the ground. Stuart was in the middle.

“So, how are your parents, Stuart? Stiles?”

“They’re fine”, Stuart said. “Overprotective as always.”

Deaton laughed. “You don’t change, do you.”

Stuart smirked. “Why bother.”

“What about you”, Stiles added. “I heard you were in the north earlier this month. Haven’t the Hales maimed you yet?”

“I barely saw them”, Deaton said. “Those people never get sick. Must be in their constitution.”

“I heard Cora’s into the Icy Spirits.”, Lydia added.

“I saw her training one day”, Deaton said. “She’s really the warrior they say. All of them are. They arrive tomorrow in the city.”

Stiles shivered.

“I bet they aren’t so tough”, Jackson added from behind.

“Look, at least this one speaks some sense.”, Stuart added.

“And neither are you”, Jackson said, glaring at him.

Stuart returned the look but turned his head to face Deaton again. “Anyway, where did you just come from? Not from the North. Pentos?”

“Dragon’s End.”

He and Lydia looked at each other briefly. “Have you brought what we asked for?”, he said.

“Yes. They weren’t cheap! I reckon you have a fair offer.”

“Let’s negotiate that later”, Stuart said, raising an eyebrow. He pulled out a small dagger from his commoner shirt’s sleeve. He had dressed for the occasion. “Let’s test the quality. I need someone’s blood, only a few drops. Jackson?”, he said, turning around and getting up.

“I’d rather melt my new armor than take part in that”, he said, making a disgusted face. Stuart’s other eyebrow met that one.

“Good. Then your boy will do.”

He went over, quickly grabbed Isaac’s hand and pinched briefly and decidedly in his palm to draw some blood.

Isaac made an aborted noise and reflexively drew his hand back, closing his eyes and looking away, his face pale.

“Sorry, my Prince.”

Stuart sighed. “It’s enough, anyway. Weakling.”

“Don’t be sorry!” Jackson said, angrily, stepping in between, “who gave you the right to do that? He’s mine!”

“And who gives you the right to raise your voice against me?”, Stuart said, staring at Jackson only some feet away from him, breathing loudly. The air was heavy with tension. Stiles told Scott and Parrish something from his side and also got up.

“We’ll leave you and Lydia with Deaton to test the quality. We’ll be back when we’re done.”

Stiles and Scott grabbed Isaac and went outside quickly, and Parrish took Jackson; leaving Meredith, Lydia and Stuart alone with Deaton.

Deaton was looking at Stuart with disapproval in his eyes. “So, let’s move on. If this one is as good as you say…”

*

Jackson and Parrish went to one of the side rooms and got to a terrace by the riverside. The Sun was lower now, filling the sky with shades of yellow and orange, few clouds in the Strait. Parrish reclined in the stone rail and sighed. “Don’t confront him. You’ll only make it worse.”

Jackson looked at him and licked his lips hastily. “I don’t know how you put up with him. Seriously.” He joined him and his expression was resigned.

“People aren’t always what they seem. And people change. Anyway”, Parrish turned to look at his nephew, “How’s your dad?”

Jackson sighed and looked at the Strait and the seagulls in the horizon, flying in a flock, hearing them in the distance.

“He’s doing well. He wants to marry me to Lydia Martin. If she’s not to be Queen, that is.”

Parrish smiled. “Now, isn’t that wonderful?”

“I guess… if only she loved me as much as I love her.”

 “Well, as I said, people change. Don’t lose hope.”

He huffed. “I don’t know…”

They stayed there in comfortable silence for a moment. They spent little time together since Parrish was in the Queen’s guard, and the Crown Prince’s personal bodyguard.

“Uncle, can I ask you something?”, he said, then continued, “Why won’t father ever tell me who my real mother was?”

Parrish looked surprised, but simply turned and placed a hand in his nephew’s shoulder.

“He will, someday. He’s probably looking for the right time. But you have to love your adoptive mother like she was your own blood. She’s a Whittemore, she’s your real mother.”

“You know I’ve tried…”, Jackson said, looking the ground and then at him.

“Maybe not hard enough. I wish I could tell you so many things”, Parrish said, “but for now, just trust me all is about to change a lot. We have to be careful, nothing good ever comes with Hales and Argents in the same room.”

*

Scott and Isaac had met some time ago, when Jackson came to the Palace or they trained together, always forced by their parents, of course. Scott didn’t like Jackson but Isaac seemed nicer the more he got to know him. They were sitting in a couch ornamented in the Pentosi fashion, with elaborate patterns and vivid red colors.

“Hey, Isaac, are you okay?”

“Yeah. It just took me by surprise, that’s all.”

He was still sucking at the wound Stuart had left in his palm, but it had stopped bleeding long ago.

“Stuart’s a dick. So is Jackson.’”, Scott said.

“Shh, Stiles’s gonna hear you.”

“It’s not like he can say anything”, Scott said with a crooked smile. “This isn’t Pentos, you aren’t their slave.”

Isaac sighed and chuckled. Scott took some bandages he’d found and carefully covered his wound, and they caught up in the meantime about their training.

“Thanks. It’s not really that bad. It’s barely a scratch, I don’t know why you’ve gone through all the trouble.”

“Well, we have to do something. Hey, did you know Allyson is arriving tomorrow? Stiles told me they’re coming by land, because the sea is wild right now and they were in no hurry.”

Isaac nodded and they kept talking. Stiles was looking through the window when he heard a noise from the side and left the room to search for its source, silently. If he got lost he’d end up bumping into a prostitute, or even worse, a prostitute and a client, but he was too curious. He felt a hand grab his wrist and he was pulled to a well-lit room from the hallway he was crossing.

“Fuck the Light!”, the girl said, “You’re Prince Stiles! I’m so happy!”

“Shhh”, he said, looking sideways, “nobody can know I’m here.”

She chuckled and bowed, mockingly. “What is someone like you doing here in the first place? I’m Erica, by the way.”

“That’s none of your business”, he whispered a bit too high, furrowing his brow, still suspicious.

“Maybe it is”, she said, running her hand through Stiles’s scalp and taking his other one to place it against her breast. “Are you getting lonely at night, my Prince? No signs of a wife yet? Or husband? Rumors are you’ll marry very soon.”

When she tried to grope his crotch, he moved her hands away, and she pinched his nose but then stepped back. “Okay, I get it. I wouldn’t charge you, though. And not for being the Prince.”

Stiles blushed, but he felt curious about the girl. He hardly ever met a commoner, much less a prostitute, and she seemed clean and friendly. He’d expected way differently. She was also beautiful, although she was wearing a lot of make up for his taste. He guessed it was part of the job.

“I can’t do that”, he whined, “though you’re a very beautiful lady.”

She laughed so hard she had to put a hand on her mouth to avoid calling anyone’s attention. “I’m no lady, little Prince. I’m a whore. For now.”

He quirked his eyebrows. “Are you quitting?”

“You can’t tell anybody”, she said, “so we’ll keep each other’s secret”, she continued, winking.

He sat down on a chair, and she sat beside him. “Okay. Where will you go?”

“I’m going to Pentos in some months. I heard there’s a good place where I could work, good wages and my friend is there.”

“I’ve been to Pentos. Do you know there’s slavery there? I don’t like how their rulers treat their own people.”

“I won’t be one”, she said, “it’s all planned. I just have to be patient. I’ll miss catching a glimpse of your cute face every now and then, but I’ll be better off away from Sylune.”

“I can’t blame you, really; and I wouldn’t know what to do in your situation”, he said as his cheeks flushed again. “I’m sorry.”

“Hmm… so in compensation, how about you give me a goodbye kiss? I just bathed!”

“Erica! Oh…”

*

Deaton had already sold the herbs and was chatting quietly with Lydia and Stuart when the rest came in. Lydia had also acquired Redwort, a contraceptive herb, and put it in her pouch; and Stuart had mysteriously taken some too for _someone else_. They were about to leave, because the sun was setting by now.

“Stiles!”, Deaton said, as he came in. “Why do you have lipstick marks on your cheek?”

“It’s not what it looks like!”, he said, “All of you, drop the subject.”

Stuart was laughing. “No one has said anything yet.”

“Shut up”, he said.

“Lydia, can I talk to you for a second?”

Stuart nodded at her and she left with him. When they were alone, she looked at him and cleaned his kiss marks with a small handkerchief. “What is it?”

“I haven’t spoken to you all evening but I wanted to tell you something. Do you have any clue where I can learn old Draconic?”

“Hmm… why do you ask?”

“There’s some books I’d like to read, from the library back at the palace.”, he looked sideways and lowered the tone of his voice, “I want to read about Aeron and the Red Sorceress.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Wow. I see… well, you know, actually I can read that. I could teach you. But I want something in return.”

“That’s awesome. What do you want?”

“You make Stuart come to his senses he has to marry someone. We know it may be someone that isn’t in Sylune now, but if he were to tell Claudia himself…”

“Are you suggesting he tells mother to marry you?”

“Not exactly, but…”

“But you want that”, Stiles said, his face saddening.

“Stiles, I know this isn’t easy for you. Trust me. But I’m not doing this for myself. It’s for him. If he ends up marrying Allyson or a Hale, we won’t need a Red Sorceress to burn Sylune.”

Stiles nodded, because she was right no matter how much it hurt him. Truth is, he was infatuated with Lydia, but Stuart was his twin brother. And he wouldn’t let him down.

“I’ll do my best.”

She nodded back. “Let’s return.”

When they got back, Deaton was telling Parrish and Jackson about the Hales. They were also traveling by land. Stiles swallowed at the mention of Laura, Derek and Cora Hale. They hadn’t really talked much, but their death glares sent shivers down his spine. It was evident the Hale siblings wanted to stay away from Sylune as much as possible, always looking like a clouder of cats in a new home. And Lord Peter was creepier than Gerard Argent. He wished he wasn’t coming, Claudia had told him he wasn’t.

They said goodbye shortly after that; Scott hugged Isaac for a bit too long and then he left with the Princes and Parrish. Meredith hadn’t really spoken much, but she seemed less unsettled when the Nyctian objects weren’t in the table. Jackson also hugged Parrish and left with Lydia and Meredith. They each left through a different door than the one they had use to come in, to avoid being conspicuous.

When Stiles looked back at the brothel, he saw a familiar face winking at him through the window. He laughed internally and remembered Erica’s face before he drifted to sleep that night. The next day would be big.

 

**The Riverlands, May 1013 AN**

The Hale family would normally have taken the river after crossing Grizzly Hills, where they met the Boltons who joined them, but they took the Path of Ashes instead. Talia chose to be educational, and her children couldn’t be more pissed about it, though they tolerated it because they dreaded Sylune more than anything. They only wanted to be in the North.

Laura was sitting with Cora, chilling out on the grass in the midday sun, in some solitary fields they’d stopped by in the Riverlands. The closest town was a small village called Aldor, where they’d spent the previous night. Aldor was famous for its armor smiths, and they were favored by Queen Claudia herself, since she had asked them to make golden armors, that she’d imbue with light, as a gift for the upcoming weddings of the Princes.

The Riverlands was the shire north of Sylune by the river Clearwaters, east of it lay the Dawn Fields and then Dragon’s End. Geography bored Cora to no end, as well, because she always wanted to spar and learn about the Deep North. There, the glaciers took over and ancient ice runes in the Old Tongue held the secrets of gelomancy and the Spirits of Ice.

She was resting her head on Laura’s thighs and Laura was playing with her hair.

“I thought Peter wasn’t coming?”, Cora asked.

“He always tags along in the last moment. Said he’d miss all the fun.”

Cora snorted. “I bet. I’m dying to meet the Argents again. Why is everybody in Sylune so annoying?”

Laura smirked. “You find everything annoying. In Aldor, in Sylune… But I’m sure you’ll like someone.”

“Yes, yes… well, let me sleep. I need some energy for the rest of the trip.”

*

Peter was watering the horses with Derek.

“So, how are you looking forward to seeing the Argents, dear nephew?”

Derek glared at him. “You know I hate Saurs.”

Peter opened his mouth with false surprise. “Is that so? I thought you had some… friendship with the Lord’s daughter.”

“That’s none of your business”, Derek said, defensively.

Peter crackled and patted his back, “you be careful. We wouldn’t want Talia to find out, would we?”

“Are you threatening me?”, Derek blurted out, jerking his head.

“I’d never do that!”, Peter said. “I just said you should be careful. And maybe try to be interested in someone less dangerous. Listen to me, I know who she is and how she plays the game.”

Derek furrowed his eyebrows. “Who are you thinking about?”

“Lady Martin?”

“She’s a beautiful lady, but she has a thing for the Prince. I don’t think we’d be compatible.”

“She also likes to play with fire, just like you. What about the little Prince?”

Derek hesitated. “He looks exactly like Stuart. Are you kidding? I’d want to rip his throat out, with my teeth, every moment.”

“Quite aggressive. I bet he likes it”, Peter said smirking.

Derek glared at him.

*

Talia and Deucalion Bolton were by the cart, looking at the green fields. Deucalion had been trying to ingratiate himself with Lady Hale for all the road, but she was onto him. He was sharpening his sword.  

“Lord Bolton, may I ask you something?”

“Anything, my Lady.”

“Why do you think the Hales have been the alphas of the Kingdom for such a long time?”

“Because they stuck together.”

She glared at him icily and nodded. “Keep it in mind. True Syns stay together and support each other. That’s how we thrive and that’s the way of the northerners.”

“Yes, my Lady.”

“The Hales won’t forget what happened South of Clearwaters and what the Scaled have done to our peoples in the past.”

Deucalion nodded, and he sheathed his sword. Talia didn’t blink.

*

Half an hour later the Hale family got together and left for Sylune, planning only to stop once again before arriving at the city’s main gates, where the Royal guard would escort them to the Palace.

 

**Rocky Shore, May 1013 AN**

East of Sylune and its wide bay lay the Rocky Shore, named that way because of the traitorous coasts and the few natural beaches. It was a Valley shire of strong Saur presence, and the Argents were traversing it to get to Sylune. They had already traveled for four days nonstop and would arrive the next day at the city’s main gates.

North of Rocky Shore was the oldest shire in the Valley, the Meadows, which held the second biggest city, Viridia. There were a total of five shires, and traditionally Osternis. Viridia provided the center for the old culture common to all Vallese people and was a crossroads for many routes. It was the ancestral home of the Martin family, of neutral Valley heritage, and where the pact for peace was signed eras ago before Sylune was built for Syns and Saurs to inhabit peacefully – only to be broken by the Salthariens when the Scaled Saurs discovered dragons in Erin Tornys.

The Meadows bordered with the other four shires (The Bay of Sylune in the west, the Riverlands in the north-west, Dawn Fields in the north-east and Rocky Shore in the south), with Dragon’s End and with Orin Tornys in the Marshlands.

Down in Rocky Shore, by the coast, the Argents were eating on a table laid in the grass. Kate and Victoria finished quickly and left for a stroll to digest their meal and discuss their own matters. Gerard was left with Allyson, and he took his cup of Rocky wine as he spoke to her.

“Tell me, sweetheart, do you know what this Council will determine?”

“The future of the Realm?”, she ventured, tentatively.

“Yes. And who the Queen will be. Tell me, do you want to rule?”

Allyson sighed. She couldn’t lie to her grandfather.

“No. Not with Stuart.”

“And what will you do if Claudia determined you should marry the Prince?”

“I’ll fulfill my duties as an Argent, for the good of the Kingdom.”

“I’m well aware of your friendship with the little Martin. How will she take it?”

“I don’t know…”, Allyson said, “I don’t want her to hate me.” She seemed troubled.

“Listen to me, Allyson”, Gerard said, reaching for her arm and squeezing it. “You’re a Scaled, despite who owns the dragons. You’re strong and proud. Don’t let anybody stay dim your shine. If she can’t accept your position, you’re better off without her.” He drank his wine and looked away.

Allyson rubbed her eyes. “I wish I didn’t have to choose.”

“Life will always make you choose. Duty, or love. Family, or friends. Life, or Death. Allyson, never forget what you are. You’re a true dragon. We can’t let the monarchy keep pushing us down, our lands have lost too much.”

He smiled weakly and she returned his smile, nodding softly.

“I just got a letter from her. She actually told me Lord Whittemore and Lord Martin were talking about betrothing her and Jackson.”

“Good. They know the Vallese place in Sylune. They’re also ambitious men, and we’ve done well to earn their favors over these years in Sylune.”

A voice came from behind them. “Let’s hope the Syns know theirs as well.”

Victoria laughed, looking at Kate, and said acridly, “Syns and Saurs shouldn’t mix. If Claudia takes Ewyn’s little daydream too seriously nothing good will happen. The Hales should stay in the North, where they belong, and not meddle in Sylune.”

A storm was brewing in the horizon, advancing from the South Sea. The whole sea was especially warm, but more so the parts near the Marshlands, which were often hit by violent storms and gales. It was rumored that deep within the sea there was a gigantic maelstrom that ravaged any ship that dared attempt a voyage through anywhere that wasn’t the Strait. Seafarers did their best not to venture too far from the coast, and not too close either lest their ended up crashing against the rocks.  

Matt, Kate’s squire, arrived.

“My lords, my ladies. The horses are ready.”

Gerard nodded, drowning a coughing fit with one last sip of wine and standing up.

“We still have to travel all through the Bay. Let’s go”, Victoria urged.

“I need a moment”, Allyson said, and got closer to the coast alone to look at the storm and the waves rising and crashing.

She felt the rays of thunder hitting the sea’s silvery surface. Most Argent blades were imbued with thunder, such as Kate’s or Chris’s, but neither of them was a full expert on thunder magic, especially practiced because of a small Cult of Thunder in Erin Tornys. She was used to the feeling of electricity and it both calmed and left her expectant of when it’d crash.

Allyson just closed her eyes and felt the winds growing stronger, cold air against her black, long hair. “Scott. Lydia. Friends. I hope the wind blows our way in this storm…”, she said to herself and to the sea.

 

**Sylune, Royal palace, May 1013 AN**

The Hales arrived first in Sylune. The Path of Ashes had been cleared for the occasion and their bannermen lined the sides with flags, waving the Hale blue wolf against a black background. The city gates were open and the cart carrying the noble family drove them into the city, guiding them past the tall and solid stone walls and onto the higher district tier in the city. Some of their men drove to their residence in the Syn District to leave their belongings and unpack for the stay in the capital.

The cart carrying both noble families, however, drove to the Royal palace through one of the high bridges, the one extending from the Valley district in the North-East to the Inner district. Banners waving the Hale wolf had been put along the bridge together with the Stilinski stag, and the Argent dragons, erected at the sides of the magical lights that shone at night and lit the bridge. With the sun, however, there was no trace of the spell.

When the cart arrived at the Palace’s main doors in a big marble terrace, it stopped and they got down. The Hales had already been there before, but the sight impressed even them every time. There was a colossal grey statue of Ewyn, the first Stilinski to reign, in the middle, and around the grey there was green in a magnificent garden full of lively colored flowers and trees, as well as benches and fountains. Beyond, one could see all of Sylune, some of the Districts in the distance and the river deep below, flowing into the Strait in the early morning.

Sir Parrish and Sir Christopher came out of the doors as they were opened and walked to stand in front of Talia and David Hale. At Talia’s other side, Peter stood, and behind them the Hale children. By David’s side were the Boltons; Deucalion, Kali and behind their twin sons, Aiden and Ethan.

The knights bowed before the Hale and Bolton ladies and lords and Christopher was the first to speak, looking at them.

“Your majesty welcomes you to Sylune, Lady Hale, Lord Hale; Lord Bolton, Lady Bolton.”

The northerners nodded.

“Follow us, the Queen and King are waiting for you.”

Laura and David followed as the white cloaked men led the way. They soon entered the throne room, where the Stilinskis were sitting. The Queen was in the Throne of Ewyn, with Stuart and John by her sides, in smaller chairs, and Stiles by John’s side, the four of them in a line. The Queen was dressed in a white, long dress ornamented with silver patterns, and the King and Princes wore golden armors of the Stilinski style.

The Royal Family stood when the Hales arrived and stopped before the steps up the throne platform. As they walked towards them, both northern families knelt. Talia looked at Claudia with a smile, and then tilted her head. She was wearing her dark armor with a fur coat and her sword sheathed by her side. The rest of her family wore more comfortable clothes, still too dark for Sylunite fashion.

“Your Holiness, it’s an honor to be in your presence”, the alpha said.

Cora huffed very discreetly from behind, where the younger members of both families stood. Stuart looked at her and grinned smugly. Stiles was looking at Laura and smiled fondly at her, she looked down too. John looked at Deucalion who was staring at the red carpet in the floor.

“Rise, my Lady”, Claudia said, walking towards her as they all rose, “We welcome you to Sylune. It’s been too long.”

When they were face to face, Talia finally pulled Claudia in for a hug and they patted each other’s backs. “Yes, I barely remembered the light of this city”, Talia said softly.

“ _No wonder, in that dark north of yours_.”, Stuart mumbled to himself, but he could have sworn they heard because Laura, Derek and Cora gave him death glares at that very instant and he saw yellow and blue eyes flashing. Huh, weird Syns. He even thought Cora had mumbled something back at him. He looked back at Talia.

“How’s your family, Talia?”, the Queen asked, “How are affairs in the North?”, she continued shortly after, looking at Deucalion.

“Everything is good beyond Clearwaters”, Talia reassured her kindly. “How is the capital?”

“Busy as usual”, John added, laughing, patting her shoulder as well. “Should we get going somewhere more comfortable?”

“Yes, by all means”, Peter said from behind, “we’re all exhausted from the trip.”

David nodded and went join John while Talia and Claudia led the way to the dining hall where all sorts of food and drinks had been placed for the special occasion. They arrived at the high entrance arches when Parrish caught up to the Queen and informed her the Argents had arrived.

“Sir Christopher will bring them here”, he said.

Peter raised an eyebrow and looked at him. “Good, I hope they don’t get lost in the throne room.”

Parrish ignored him but the rest of the Hales, especially Cora and Derek, laughed.

“Very well”, Claudia said, “Why don’t you tell Lord Whittemore and Lord Martin that we’re all here?”

“Yes, your Holiness”, Parrish said, and left to look for them in the Palace, where they had arrived earlier with their families, waiting for the reception of the northerners and southerners.

Some of the nobles sat; but the monarchs, Talia, David, Deucalion and Kali stayed in place and waited for the Argents to appear. When they came into sight, Gerard led the way with Chris, and behind them were Allyson, Victoria and Kate. When they arrived at the entrance to the dining hall where Claudia stood, she offered her hand. Gerard knelt with difficulty and kissed it.

“Your Holiness, you’re as radiant as always.”

“You don’t look too bad yourself”, the Queen responded, as he got up, squeezing his arm. “Tell me, Lord Argent, are you hungry from your travels? The feast was just about to begin.”

“Yes, yes, most certainly”, he said, and as they walked towards the benches he looked at Talia and David from the other side of the Queen. “Was the trip easy for you, Lord and Lady Hale? I’m sure you’re used to much colder weathers up North.”

“We did well”, Talia said, “But you’re right, it’s hot like a dragon’s breath in here.” She took off her coat of fur and handed it to Laura, who then gave it to a Royal servant. Gerard laughed drily.

Chris was chatting with Allyson as Kate came forward with Victoria. “And it will only get hotter today”, she said with a broad smile, “so I hope there are cold drinks”.

Gerard smiled and she held to his arm, motioning for him to follow her. Everyone sat after that, and the feast begun. The main long table was governed by Claudia and John, the Hales and Argents, facing each other, the Boltons and Whittemores and then the Martins and the Princes in the other end. 

Sylunite delicacies, the best Osternis wine and cold juices ensued as the nobles began having fun and talking to each other while they ate, the stupor and disinhibition from the alcohol becoming more patent as the time went on. In the background, hired musicians played their instruments and the room became filled with mirth, probably because everyone was mostly speaking to their own families. Claudia was a strategist. For the moment, at least.  

John laughed loudly over a joke told by Gerard. “That was a good one.”

“He’s so funny”, Victoria said, wiping a tear from her eye.

“Son, you’re eating like a Syn, don’t they feed the Guards in here?”, Gerard told Chris, still laughing, but then looked at Claudia and Talia. “No offense”, he said, without any real apology. David squinted his eyes, letting his cutlery in the plate. “None taken.”

From Derek’s side, Kate was absently shaking her almost-empty cup of honeyed wine. She looked up and their gazes locked as she smirked lewdly. He raised an eyebrow, and she leered. He bared his teeth and looked away when Peter elbowed him, urging him to look at the other end of the table.

“What do you think about him now?”

Derek looked at Stiles, and it was much harder than he had thought to look past the little Prince. He had soft, pink lips and his cheeks were puffed as he ate a mouthful of bread. He was clean-shaven. He looked up at his whiskey eyes, shining in the afternoon light almost like gold. But his focus returned to his mouth, and he heard from all the distance how he was laughing, and it was the sweetest of sounds. He did look like Stuart, but he wasn’t angry, as he thought; Stiles’s look was proud but kind. 

“You’re a pervert”, Derek told Peter.

Peter gasped, “What did I say?”

Derek shook his head. “Forget it.”

Laura chimed in. “What are you talking about? The little Prince?”

Derek cleared his throat. “Have you nothing better to talk about?”

Laura squinted at him but let him be “You mean like how the Argents were hissing before? Thank the Spirits they’re speaking the Common Tongue now”.

Peter chuckled.

“If you’ll excuse me”, Derek said, and got up to leave the room for a moment, to try and take his mind off the Prince.

*

Stiles was still sitting at the opposite end of the table as his mother; he had been eyeing Derek’s stupid stubble and his undecipherable eyes since he saw him sitting there along with Laura. He was resting both elbows on the table and holding his own head, daydreaming. Stuart was first to speak, after having engaged in a polite conversation with Lydia’s father and being eyed constantly by her mother in disapproval. Natalie Martin wasn’t very subtle.

“So thinking about the wolf puppies?”, Stuart said, tilting his head.

Stiles ignored him. Lydia laughed.

Stiles eyed her. “Shut up.”

Lydia opened her mouth to say something but stopped, and then said in a very low voice, “For Light’s sake, he’s looking at you.”

“Shit”, Stiles said, and blushed, taking the first chunk of bread he’d left in his plate to chew on something, and pretended to talk with Stuart.

Stuart looked at Derek briefly, raising his eyebrows. “Can’t blame you. Though their Old Tongue is annoying as a Light sermon. And I can make as much sense out of it.”

“Are you kidding? It sounds so beautiful! Lydia taught me some”, Stiles said.

Lydia looked at Stuart, who was furrowing his brow now, and shrugged. She spoke a lot of languages.

“And, I saw you peeking at one of the Bolton twins before. So shut up”, Stiles said, pointing at her in jest.

“It was just because I saw his brother checking out Danny”, she said defensively, placing a hand on the table.

“What about Danny?”, Jackson asked, hearing his servant’s name.

“Nevermind”, she said, sighing, and Stiles laughed.

*

Parrish came to the table at some point to talk to his brother, and whispered something in his ear. From the other side, Peter Hale raised his cup at both of them and Lord Whittemore smiled politely and did the same. Parrish simply stared at Peter and left walking by the Argents’ place in the table. Chris and Victoria were talking quietly to each other, having already finished their plates.

“I’ve missed you and Allyson a lot”, he said.

“So have we”, Victoria said sincerely. “I wish you had come.”

“Me too. But you know my place is here, dear.”

She hesitated, but then nodded.

“To protect the Realm”, Allyson added, and his father nodded back at her.

“Yes, never forget that.”, he added. “Knights ought to protect justice.”

Victoria smiled and took her daughter’s hand. They returned to chime in Gerard’s conversation with the Boltons, and then Gerard asked Claudia about Belerion’s health and state, in which she filled them in enthusiastically. Kate excused herself from the table soon afterwards.

*

Derek was about to return to the dining hall, still thinking about the little Prince. He was walking through a corridor when he saw a woman turn around the corner in his direction. It was Kate Argent. They hadn’t met in months, and despite hating each other’s heritages, they had found an understanding sometime. He could use the situation to let off some steam, he thought.

“You’re way too obvious”, Derek said.

She smirked. “Is that so?”

He huffed.

“Hey, don’t be mad, pup. I can’t believe you’ve grown so well. Look at you, just a kid yesterday.”

He mocked a laugh. “That kid was man enough for you.”

She raised an eyebrow defiantly. “No one is man enough for me.” She fisted his dark blue shirt and pulled him into a room in the side of the corridor, and had him take her against the wall fast and dirty, not even taking all of their clothes off. She scratched his back as he pushed her into the wall, and she muffled her moans by biting into his neck way stronger than necessary. They couldn’t be late for desert, and they couldn’t take too long. After they were finished, they were still panting when she was getting dressed again. She was at the door while he was still standing against the wall. She looked at him.

“Syns are good for something, after all. And, the hair looks good on your face.”

“Fuck you.”

“Again already? Calm down, beast.”

He glared at her. She seemed unfazed, if not happier.  

“Before I go.”, she said, after a moment of silence, “What do you think of our hallowed future King marrying one of your beloved sisters?”

“I’ll tear him to shreds if he dares try to hurt any of them,”, he said reflexively, then added “after they’re Widow Queens of course. My family doesn’t take any bullshit from anyone, much less Saurs”, he said, and he smiled cockily.

“It’s cute you think any of your sisters would be a Queen.”

Derek took a step forward, losing the smile. “What are you suggesting?”

“Nothing. Just be careful. Everyone with dragons is a little crazy, right?”

She left and Derek pondered her words.

*

The feast went on well into the evening, and the families wanted to leave to their own Districts for the much needed sleep afterwards. Talia, Gerard and the Queen, however, stayed a little longer, strolling through the gardens, so the nobles hung around more time.

“Claudia, what’s on your mind?”, Gerard asked softly.

“Oh, well, nothing specific. I was thinking of my boys.”

“Ah, kids”, he said, “They grow up so fast. They’re all men and women now. Soon the Kingdom will be in their hands.”

“Good hands, I hope”, Talia added.

*

Stiles was sitting alone in a bench tapping his feet when he saw his father and Laura Hale walking through the gardens too, going to the Hale cart probably. Her father hugged her and went away, as she began walking towards him. Stiles had always sort of admired the northerners; all the Hales, especially Laura and Derek, seemed so strong and decided, and they also scared him a little even if he wouldn’t say it out loud.

She sat beside him. “Hey. How are you, Stiles?”, she said. “You’re so tall now! I remember when you were a kid.”

“Thanks”, he said. “Hey, what’s that sword? It looks wonderful!”

She touched it over the sheath. “This is my family sword, Icefang. It’s been used to defend the North since the times of the Salthariens, always wielded by a Hale.”

“Wow”, he said.

“I gave it to her”, Talia said, coming over. “Stiles! Good to see you. Laura, we should go. Have you seen Cora?”

“Um…”, Stiles said, getting up along with her.

“I’m right here”, a voice said, coming from behind a fountain in the other end of the garden, and walking past both of them to her mother. She eyed Stiles.

“Goodbye, Stiles”, Laura said, and pecked his cheek, “take good care of yourself.”

He nodded and looked at Talia. “Goodbye, Lady Hale, you all rest well tonight. Sylune is your home too.”

Talia smiled fondly and shook his hand. “You’re so much like your mother”, she said, squeezing his arm after the handshake, and then they turned to leave.

Stiles waved the she wolves goodbye awkwardly. Cora turned around and winked at him, and he could swear her eyes flashed yellow light.

*

Gerard was strolling with Stuart through one of the corridors that faced the gardens, looking at the red sky of the sunset coloring the fountains through the stone arches. Both were wearing armors, Gerard olive and gold and Stuart’s golden, with a dark cape and no weapon.

“So, young Prince, tell me, did you know Ewyn was of Saur heritage?”

“Why are you lecturing me on my family?”, Stuart said, emotionless, looking forward.

Gerard chuckled. “No, I’m not. I’m just saying, that’s why he could tame Nessaria. I wanted to talk to you alone, man to man. Tell me, your mother’s wishes aside, who do you really want to marry?”

Stuart stopped and looked at him. “Isn’t it obvious what you want to hear?”

“I want to know what your heart wants”, Gerard replied. “Arranged marriages can make people miserable. And our Kingdom needs a happy King. That’s why I was thinking you’d agree Saur blood is the best, isn’t it?”

Stuart examined him carefully. “Is it?”

Gerard played with his helmet in his hands, calm and methodic. He sighed. “I’m sure. The Syn presence in Sylune has only further and further pushed Saurs into the shadows, not only in the Marshes but also in the Valley. A true Saur King would put the northerners in their place.”

“So you are saying I should marry Allyson, aren’t you?”

“I’m saying you should consider your options. But, I won’t lie. An Argent Queen would make your reign shine above all others. Saurs belong together, and you’d have the full support of our family in the King’s Guard. I’ve been in Sylune for long. Others would also support your decision.”

“Right now, the best of the Argents is in the Queen’s guard”, Stuart said unabashedly, and Gerard coughed.

“When you’re King, things may change, son. You need as much support as you can get. I would make sure your reign is prosper.”

Stuart placed a hand in Gerard’s shoulder and smirked. “When I’m King, things _will_ change. And, anyway, you won’t be there for most of it.”

Gerard was shocked, and was about to say something when he entered a coughing fit and he stared bitterly at Stuart. Stuart’s look turned cold and he got closer to Gerard, and whispered. “Don’t think me a fool. You remember well not to underestimate me.”

Stuart turned around and left unhurried, still impassive.

Gerard recovered and sat to catch his breath. When he wasn’t coughing, he was in good shape, but long journeys made him weak. “Pathetic brat”, he mumbled. “Imbecile”, he added, and threw his helmet at the ground, which made a loud clash in the empty gardens.

*

Lydia and Allyson were ecstatic to meet each other again, and they hugged long before they pulled away to talk about Sylune and the Marshes.

“It’s so boring there”, Allyson said, “At least I didn’t stay all the time in the Cape.”

“So where did you go?”, Lydia said.

“I traveled to Erin Tornys! I visited that Temple of Thunder. It was great, and I went in the middle of a storm so… some thunder magic is breathtaking. I even got you some old books on the subject, they’re in Draconic.”

“Thanks! Sounds very interesting, I’ll go look for them as soon as I can”, Lydia said. “In Sylune it’s always boring. I went to the Astral Society the other day with Stiles, we’ve been working on that… but not much else.”

“Sounds great too. You’re going to be Sylune’s greatest wizard.”

Lydia smirked. “I already am. How about your archery, Diana?”

Diana was a renown popular Vallese heroine that joined the Syn resistance in Dragon’s End when the Saltharien armies executed the Purge of the Valley, two thousand years ago, persecuting Syns and their Vallese families and friends. She was an excellent archer, much like Allyson.

“Good, good”, she said, smiling too.

Isaac and Jackson were sparring with Matt, Kate’s squire, on the training grounds in front of them.

“Let me show you.”

Allyson took a bow and one arrow she’d found around earlier and shot in right the place to take Matt’s sword from his hands. He had just put Isaac in the ground and was pointing the blade at his neck, teasing him for his defeat, and Isaac looked uneasy. “No point in gloating”, she screamed, and saw Matt apologize and quickly retreat, fuming.

“Who’s that one?”, Allyson said. “I never paid much attention to Jackson’s squire.”

“Isaac”, Lydia said.

Allyson nodded, pouting.

*

Back in the main gates, by the Argent cart, Kate and Chris chatted with Victoria waiting for Gerard and Allyson. They were talking about Belerion.

“Chris, I’m not saying anything about Stilinski skills.”, Kate offered, “in fact, Claudia could hatch that egg, so she’s not without merit”, she continued, “but don’t you deny that we, the Scaled, would do better.”

“It’s in our blood!”, Victoria added.

Chris sighed. “I know where we come from. But nobody took dragons from us, the Scaled lost dragons on their own.”

“If it wasn’t for so much Syn presence in Sylune that would’ve never have happened!”, Victoria said, looking at him with crazy eyes. “All the money went to the North and Osternis.”

“And when the Salthariens had all the money, how much Syn presence was there, Victoria?”

She shut up, visibly angry, but defeated.

“Why do you hate your Saur nature so much?”, Kate said, “you weren’t like this, brother. The capital’s affected you.”

“I don’t”, he said, sighing. “I just see history for what it is. We Argents are a good Scaled family. And I want the best for Allyson. Her happiness.”

“Actually”, Kate said, unimpressed, “I misremembered. You were always naïve. There is much at stake in a few days, brother!”

“Enough”, Victoria said. “We’re all tired.”

Kate ran her hands through her long brown hair and looked away. “Look, father is coming. He doesn’t seem happy”, she looked closer, “at all.”

Gerard arrived with Allyson, who had just told Lydia goodbye in the gardens. “We’re leaving right now”, he said bitterly and rushed into the cart.

Kate looked at Allyson. “What’s up, Ally?”

“I’m guessing he talked with his Highness the Prince”, she said, with mocking haughtiness. “He was also blaspheming.”

Chris kissed them goodbye, hugging her daughter tightly, and the Argents left for their District. The sun was already below the horizon.

 

**Sylune, Royal palace, June 1013 AN**

A few days went by uneventfully and finally the first of June arrived. The Council was an event held every few months by the Crown, in which the most influential noble families of the Kingdom sat in the Council Room in the Royal Palace to discuss important affairs and decide the course of action in the Kingdom and other policies regarding the rest of the known world. Technically votes for important affairs were counted democratically and anonymously, with a vote for each of the Six Seats of Sylune, and ties were decided by the Queen. This was a remnant of the oligarchic system preceding the Salthariens, when Sylune was founded by a coalition of Syns and Saurs.

The Six Seats in 1013 AN were occupied as follows: Queen Claudia, on the Stilinski Seat; Lady Hale, on the First Syn Seat, for the lords of Winterfell; Lord Bolton, on the Second Syn Seat, for the lords of Ashenfort, capital of Grizzly Hills and Osternis; Lord Argent, on the Scaled Saur Seat, for the lords of Storm Cape; Lord Martin, on the Valley Seat, for the Sylunite representation of The Meadows, the most neutral and biggest Vallese region; and finally Lord Whittemore, on the Valley Saur Seat, for the Valley’s representation of Saurs in Sylune.

The Six met in the room and the course of the ceremony began, while the rest of the court members and nobles waited expectantly outside. The table in the room was also a six-pointed star, with each point for a seat. The Queen led and began inquiring each noble for their votes on the best candidate for the future Queen of the realm, Syn and Saur affairs.

*

Stuart was sitting on the bed in his room, and Stiles was pacing nervously.

“Sit, you’re making me nervous”, Stuart commanded Stiles.

Stiles stopped, but didn’t sit. “Do you feel like talking about it now?”

Stuart sighed.

“Did you at least consider what I told you?”, Stiles said.

“I won’t marry Lydia!”, he snapped. “I would never do that to you, why do you insist?”

“It’s just”, Stiles said, gesticulating awkwardly, “I don’t think there’s a future with us together in it.”

Stuart’s face dropped. Stiles’s words were amongst the few things that got to him. “Do you not want it?”

Stiles sighed again. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“So what are you saying?”, Stuart said, angry.

“Look, let’s just wait and see what Mother comes up with”, Stiles deflected.

Stuart groaned and lay back on the bed.

*

Lydia and Jackson were sitting around Allyson at another room in the Palace, in a beige couch with elaborate hand-sewn patterns. The midday sun came in through an open window that overlooked the Strait in the distance and warmed the room.  

“So, Lydia”, Allyson began, hesitant, “What did your father want?”

“He didn’t tell me”, Lydia said, “but I’m sure he’s complying with whatever your grandfather decides.”

Allyson nodded. “Lydia, I need you to know I don’t want to be Queen…”

Lydia sighed. “I know. We’ll be friends no matter what, right?”

Allyson pulled Lydia for a brief hug. When they broke apart, Jackson was staring at them. He got up and went to the window.

“What’s wrong?”, Allyson said. “You look uneasy.”

“I’m fine”, Jackson said.

“What about your father, Jackson?”, Lydia asked.

He kept staring through the window. “Well, I thought he’d comply with Ally’s grandfather, but…”

“But?”, Lydia inquired further, raising an eyebrow.

“Parrish has told me he may change his mind.”

Allyson furrowed her brow. “What made it change?”

“More like who”, Lydia said. “We’ll have to ask your uncle for detail.”

Jackson huffed. “No way. He never tells me anything. He thinks I’m a kid and that I can’t handle the truth.”

“I wonder why that is”, Lydia said.

Jackson scowled, but it had no heat. He only took such teasing from Lydia.

Allyson sighed again and ran a hand through her hair. “We’ll see.”

*

Scott was talking to Isaac.

“I was just talking to my mother”, he said, “do you have any idea what is going on today?”

Isaac shook with his head.

“Well, most likely”, Scott sighed, “nothing good. I just hope Lady Allyson somehow stays in the capital.”

“She seems a good lady”, Isaac said. “How much exactly do you know her?”

“Can you keep a secret?”, Scott said.

“Of course, Scott. You’re my best friend”, Isaac said, smiling weakly.

“She and I are together.”

“Oh”, Isaac said, looking away. Scott missed the glimpse of sadness in his eyes. “I’m happy for you.”

Scott smiled sadly. “I hope it lasts…”

Isaac squeezed his shoulder for comfort.

*

Peter was in the garden, walking with David and Laura. David was in the middle, and from his right Laura turned her head to speak to him.

“Father, do you think Claudia and Talia will get their way?”

“The Queen always gets her way”, David said, “and so does your mother.”

Peter chuckled. “Rest easy, Laura. The Argents aren’t the only ones with tricks up their sleeve. Even if they came to Sylune to brown-nose the Stilinskis.”

Laura looked at him. “If it goes as planned, we shouldn’t rest easy. More like the opposite.”

Derek and Cora were coming from the opposite direction and met them. “What is mother’s plan, then?”, Cora asked.

“We’ll find soon enough”, Derek told her, pulling her for a half-embrace playfully and kissing her temple, trying to dissuade her from pressing the matter further.

“Hey!”, she whined.

*

Chris and Kate were resting their weighs against opposite ends of a long arched entrance within one of the many chambers in the Palace.

“Tell me, brother, will you still protect the Realm so fervently when a tyrant reigns?”

“I’ll stay in the King’s Guard for Stuart, if that’s what you’re asking. You forget that the Stilinskis have never been tyrants. The ancient Council laws have always been respected, every Great House has a say.”

She huffed. “Do you think that will stay the same when the pious Claudia is gone and Nyctians run amok in the court? We have to think forward.”

“I spend more time here than you. It’s true he’s not the most ardent follower of the Light, but he’s not insane like Aeron was”, Chris said, taking a step forward and staring defiantly at her sister.

She bit her cheek from the inside of her mouth, while holding his stare, and then finally sighed, defeated. “Time will tell.”

*

John was with Melissa in the Queen’s chambers, and Parrish came in to talk to his fellow knight and ruler.

“They’ll be finished any moment now, my King.”

Melissa and John looked at each other and nodded. John looked at Parrish and nodded too, and Parrish took it as a sign of agreement.

Parrish left and John was about to follow when he felt a hand in his shoulder. “John”, Melissa said. “I’ve known you for a long time. I know you’re so much like Claudia.”

John turned his head and smiled weakly.

“Just remember”, she said surely, “that you love your sons and this is all for their own good and for the Realm.”

*

When the doors of the Council Room opened, Lord David Hale, Lady Kate Argent and the King were waiting solemnly in line for Talia, Gerard and the Queen, with their families behind. The Queen stepped forward nodded at the King, who seemed to understand. Gerard had a bitter expression and Kate stormed off when he shook his head at her, visibly angry. She left looking at the other three lords coming out of the room, Whittemore, Martin, and Bolton, with an expression of disgust. The three of them seemed nervous.

Stiles was standing by Allyson and Cora and looked sideways. Both girls were as fidgety as he was. Peter Hale came behind the little Prince and his niece, and put a hand on each of their shoulders to still them. “Be patient”, he said calmly, and smiled at Stiles, who eyed him briefly and looked back to find his twin brother.

Stuart, who was behind them, stepped forward decidedly to talk to his Mother. She put both her hands on his shoulders and told him. When he heard the decision, he gaped and stormed off pushing Laura aside brusquely and looking outraged.

Cora understood, and she started feeling anxious. “Mother…?”

“Cora”, Talia said, coming to her and placing her hands like Claudia had with Stuart, “you’ll be the Princess of the Realm.”

“Mother!”, Cora’s jaw dropped shortly and she brought a hand over her mouth, horrified. “Why would you do that to me?”

Talia and Claudia were at a loss for words. Stiles swallowed and looked at his Mother like a deer caught in the headlights. Peter seemed amused. Gerard stepped forward, saying drily, “And it seems you’ll be the Lord of Storm Cape, little Prince.”

Stiles froze in place, but Allyson took his hand. “Excuse us, Stiles needs a moment.”

Stiles nodded but broke the contact. “Just give me a second to talk to him”, he said, and rushed to find Stuart. As he was finding the entrance to the corridor, he found a sturdy figure on his way. Derek was standing there, scowling at him and blocking his path.

“You tell your little shit of a brother that he will have nowhere to hide if he disrespects my sisters like that again”, he said roughly, “my Prince”, he added with mocking tone.

Stiles burned with rage and snapped, piercing Derek with his brown eyes. “You watch your tongue when talking about my brother, little wolf, if you’re to keep it”, giving emphasis to every word.

Stiles shoved Derek aside before he could react and left him there fuming, with his nostrils flaring as he looked at the Prince disappear into the corridor when he turned around a corner.

Claudia cleared her throat in the other part of the room. “It seems we have gotten off on the wrong foot. I’m sure Stiles will calm Stuart down. Then we can talk more peacefully. Parrish, can you go too, please, make sure they are fine?”

“Yes, your Holiness”, he said, and left after Stiles.

Gerard left without another word, and Talia cleared her throat as well. Peter seemed about to laugh, and he went to Derek, placing his hand in his nephew’s back. “He has some temper to him too.”

Derek huffed, and turned to go where Laura was, looking murderous too.   

*

Stuart and Stiles returned about half an hour later and everyone was still in the room, but much more calm. Stuart looked angry, and Stiles sad and resigned. Claudia met with them in the entrance and then came back to Talia and Gerard, who had returned, to make an announcement.

Talia spoke to Cora. “My dear, please, do this for me. Follow Sir Parrish and the Prince.”

Cora complied, resigned, because they had been arguing before and she’d resolved to behave for the time being, to give Stuart a chance. She followed the two men. Laura kept giving Stuart the stink eye all the way. When they disappeared, Stiles was left there with the Queen.

“Allyson, will you follow me please?”

She nodded, telling Gerard and her parents goodbye, and they left together. Stiles looked sideways at Derek for a second, who was glaring at him, but he just shied away from his eyes. Laura smiled weakly at them.

Lydia and Jackson went to talk to Laura. Jackson looked at Derek, who was with Talia, and seemed to be about to kill someone.

“Do you seriously think this will work?”

Laura chuckled to let off some tension. “I’m more worried about him than about my sister.”

Lydia furrowed her brow and turned her head. “See, Jackson? Not everybody thinks Stuart is a hellspawn.”

Laura looked at Lydia, expressionless. “I didn’t say that.”

Jackson laughed at the implication about Cora.

On the other end of the room, Talia and Claudia were comforting Derek while the Argents talked among themselves and Chris seemed to be arguing with Victoria.

“They aren’t bad kids. Cora will come to an understanding”, Talia said, “I hope.”

“I’m not so sure”, Derek said, looking coldly at the Queen.

“They must”, the Queen said, softly sighing at Derek. “I’m sorry about what happened, Derek.” Talia half-embraced them both and Derek stood there awkwardly, coming down from his rage.

*

“You may go now.”

Sir Parrish closed the door and left Cora and Stuart to their own affairs in a small room with a balcony, which overlooked the gardens and City in the background. There were two red comfortable armchairs, and the clouds in the sky were gathering, making the morning greyer and more threatening with every passing hour.

They sat awkwardly and silently for a long time, looking far away. It would probably end up raining in the evening. Fitting, he thought. Cora was the first to break the silence, eventually.

“Let’s get to the point.”

He quirked his eyebrows without looking at her. “We’d have to, you know, actually talk for that.”

She furrowed her brow and tried to ignore his petulancy, though she ended up snapping. “Why do you act like you’re the one offended here?”

“Excuse me?”, he said, furrowing his own too and turning his head to face her, finally.

“Don’t give me any bullshit”, she said. “You have it all, you’ll be the King. A crown, your family name, in your own city. And I’ll be left with nothing!”, she said, raising her tone. “Don’t you think if someone should be miserable it’s me?”

Stuart held his gaze, but she was an unrelenting person when angry. He finally sighed deeply and caved in. His expression became softer and his anger dissipated.  

“This is not what I want. I want no crown, no family names and no land. I only want home, and they’re taking that away from me.”

She seemed confused, but came down a bit. “What are you talking about?”

“My brother will be shipped to Storm Cape! I can’t let that happen”, he replied, getting riled up.

“I love my brothers, too, but there’s nothing I can do if my mother sends me here. We could at least try to get along, for starters.”

He huffed, and his mischievous expression returned to his features. “With a Syn? Maybe you’re helpless, but I won’t let this happen. You’d never understand the bond between twins.”

She scowled. “You’re an idiot; I don’t even know why I thought I could reason with you. I hope you succeed and we never see each other again.” She stood up, and he followed her eyes with his face coldly. “And Laura will never bend the knee to someone like you”, she spat out.

“Don’t you think”, he said, standing up as well and raising his tone, “that what I said changes the position of your peoples. If you defy your King, be you Queen or Lady, you’ll be executed for treason.”

She stared into his eyes, getting one step closer, and hers flashed yellow. “You don’t know what the northerners are capable of.” She clenched her fist and it began to be covered by a very thin sheet of ice and a blueish glow.

Stuart smiled wickedly at her display of gelomancy. “I know the grave is always cold”, he deadpanned, and the tension in the room was about to burst when Derek Hale opened the door.

“What’s going on?”, he said.

“I was just leaving”, Cora said, opening her fist, and shoved past him airily.

Derek turned his head to look at her walk away and then scowled at Stuart. “Cora, wait!”, he yelled, then looked at him again. “You treat her right.”

Stuart scoffed. “I don’t think we’ll be treating each other at all.”

Derek kept glaring at him, turning his feet away. “Much as I’d like that, I don’t think you have a choice.”

Stuart smirked at him. “I always have choices.”

Derek eyed him one last time suspiciously and turned to leave. “You watch your actions”, he said, flashing his eyes blue, and Stuart found himself alone with the door open.

The Prince kept smirking.

*

Derek found Parrish in the corridor, when he was leaving upset. They met halfway and Parrish stopped, but Derek walked past him.

“Is Cora alright?”, he asked, turning to look at him, raising his voice.

“As good as anyone can be in your Prince’s presence”, Derek spat out enraged, looking back at him.

Parrish sighed and looked at the tiles in the floor as Derek disappeared from sight. “Stuart”, he mumbled to himself.

*

As Stuart returned to the room next to the Council one, in denial of his betrothal, he bumped against Matt, the Argent squire, in one of the corridors.

“Watch where you’re going, boy.”

“I’m terribly sorry, your Highness”, Matt said swiftly, without any real apology in his face.

He kept walking, and not much later after that he came across Kate and Gerard Argent. She noticed him and talked to him.

“Congratulations on your new Syn lady, Prince!”, she said, teasing. Gerard didn’t look as amused as she was. He coughed.

“Shut up”, Stuart told Kate, and kept walking. Kate openly laughed and he let out a deep breath.

He finally arrived where Lydia and Jackson were, and she looked at him apologetically. Jackson was beaming.

“What are you smiling at?”, Stuart said bitterly.

“Oh, nothing”, Jackson said, “I’m just happy for you and your northerner future wife.”

Lydia elbowed Jackson as Stuart glared at him.

“Hey, come on, let’s go find something else to do”, she said, and she took Stuart by his arm. He sighed and brought a hand to his forehead.

*

Stiles and Allyson were sitting in a long couch with Scott in between them in a room in the servant quarters, and Isaac was with them, standing. Stiles and Allyson had arrived together to look for Scott, with sorrowful faces, and Scott had just nodded.

“What does this mean?”, Scott asked Stiles.

“I guess it means we’ll leave when we’re married”, Stiles said, sighing.

Allyson looked at Scott. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault”, Scott said, “I guess I was an idiot for thinking this would last.”

Stiles looked saddened. “Hey, Scott”, he spoke to him softly; “We’ll find a way. We always do, right?”

Scott smiled weakly. “I hope we do.”

Allyson pulled Scott for a hug, and Stiles joined them. He noticed Isaac hovering awkwardly and motioned for him to join the group.

*

Claudia and Talia kissed each other goodbye the next day, next to Ewyn’s statue. Both women looked at the inscription with looks of longing and worry. It read:

_In memory of Ewyn Stilinski and his dream for the Holy Kingdom. May the Holy City stand forever blessed and protected from the fires of hatred between all men. May it achieve his dream of the union of Saur and Syn to bring forth peace in the Realm._

Claudia sighed and Talia squeezed her hand. “Our children will have to take it from where we’ve left it someday. Let’s make sure we do all we can until that time comes. We’re doing the right thing.”

The Hales and Boltons left Sylune that evening, sailing on a ship from Clearwaters that would take them to Grizzly Hills, and then the Hales would travel by land to Winterfell again, to stay for the summer.

The weddings would happen in September, if nothing interfered with Claudia and Talia’s intentions. Their Council strategies had succeeded. Syn blood would enter the royal lineage, and the little Prince would keep the Scaled under control in Storm Cape.


	2. Day of Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tensions in the Crown and the Council culminate when tragedy befalls the Kingdom, as history repeats itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for your kind words! Here is Chapter 2, and from now on I'll update weekly. The appendix has been uploaded as well for everyone who is interested: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3888826

**Ashenfort, June 1013 AN**

The North was a very large region since Ewyn reunified the Holy Kingdom. It was divided in the Dark Lands, which had its capital in Winterfell, the capital of the whole north; and the Grizzly Hills, north of Clearwaters. Osternis, the region west of Clearwaters, was of Vallese heritage but administrated together with the Hills from Ashenfort, its capital, and part of the North – with the exception, of course, of the part adjacent to Sylune near the mouth of Clearwaters.

Because of historical reasons, Osternis and especially Grizzly Hills had profound influence from Syn culture and many Syns and Vallese peoples inhabited together and mingled in little towns. A lot of people are bilingual in Northern Vallese and Iberish, the northern language spoken in the Dark Lands, within the Hills.

Ashenfort was a lifeless and old grey castle with a surrounding small city, filled mostly with peasants and some nobles and Osternis knights. It was in the southern border between Grizzly Hills and Osternis, west of the Elbow of Clearwaters where one could find the Clear Waterfalls. The Bolton family was an old Syn family that had ruled over these lands beyond Clearwaters for hundreds of years, subordinate only to the Hales, and always ambitious for more.

Deucalion Bolton, Lord of Ashenfort, was married to Kali Bolton, mother of his two twin sons: Aiden and Ethan Bolton. Kali’s personal servant, Jennifer, a Syn woman from Grizzly Hills, had caught Derek’s Hale interest in his youth, even if later on he had moved on. Ennis Bolton, Deucalion’s brother, was a famed northern warrior, the Grizzly equivalent of a knight in the Valley. When the Boltons returned from Sylune after the Council of Nobles, the Hales stayed the night in Ashenfort. Deucalion and Talia were sitting by a fire, in two comfortable armchairs that didn’t quite suit with the rest of the stony room, colder than it should considering the presence of the fireplace. Deucalion was staring at the fire while he toyed with the cup in his hand. He finally let it down and sighed.

“It would seem like someone has betrayed us”, he said, quietly, and looked at Talia.

Talia picked hers up and drank, then uncrossed her legs and turned her head to look at him, with a neutral expression.

“One person”, she said, “yes. Argent and Whittemore, Saurs, that was to be expected”, as her words became more emphatic, “but there were three votes.”

Deucalion smiled. “Seems like our little Vallese friend Richard Martin doesn’t want Syns in Sylune?”

“That’s what it seems, yes”, Talia deadpanned, “but he will have them”, she finally established after a moment of intense staring in his red eyes with hers.

Deucalion cleared his throat.

“It’s been an intense week, and I think you’re not used to traveling by ship, my Lady. I suggest we call it a night.”

She nodded and left the cup down, leaving Deucalion alone in the room when she walked past the wooden door, closing it silently. With her footsteps disappearing from his perception, Lord Deucalion sighed. Not long afterwards Kali came through the door, sitting in his lap.

“It seems like something didn’t go exactly like the Argents planned”, she pouted, “They know we did our part, right?”

He smiled. “Gerard Argent will get his way, more so now that we’re invested. This is just a minor setback, that’s all. Let’s wait for the time.”

She nodded and they kissed by the fire.

*

Derek was watching the night sky from atop one of the castle towers. He felt a woman sneaking from behind, and thought it was one of his sisters, but it was Jennifer. She embraced him from behind, and he just laughed and broke free carefully. He turned and they hugged.

“You’re so big now”, she said, “I remember when we were teenagers.”

He huffed a silent laugh while she leaned herself against the stone. “Sure. How is life in the Hills?”, he asked.

“I can’t complain”, she said, smiling. “But nothing too exciting for a young lord like you. I heard the Council has taken place yesterday?”

He sighed. “Yes, it did.”

“And?”, she said, genuine curiosity in her face.

“Cora will be the Princess. Even though someone voted against it. Either Martin or… your lords”, he said, in a whisper.

“Oh no! I assure you”, she said, holding his hand, “Lady Bolton told me firsthand they were fully supporting your mother. It must have been Martin.”

He nodded slowly. “I never trusted the city people. All they see is gold and glory.”

“But you had your way, isn’t it?”, she said.

“Sadly”, he added, grimacing.

“Is the Prince as cruel and spiteful as they say he is?”, she asked.

“More so”, Derek spat out with a rough voice, looking at the Green fields of Osternis, in the distance. They extended under the cover of a clear night with a waning moon.

She shivered. “I fear for the day he reigns”, she did, “and when he gets full control of Belerion. What will he do?”

Derek seemed worried, now that he pondered it. He had forgotten about the dragon. “I wish Cora didn’t have to go…”

“Why do your parents let her?”

“You don’t understand”, he said, sighing, “politics are a very complicated matter.”

She frowned. “What’s really troubling you?”

He looked at her, now sad. “I don’t know. I think I’m lying to myself not to try and talk Cora out of this while she still has the time…”

She chuckled. “She of all northerners, to go to the big city.”

He smiled, “yeah, she won’t go down without a fight.”

She smiled too and held closer to him.

*

In Kali’s chambers, her sons came in to talk to her deep in the night while Jennifer was braiding her hair.

“He has no clue,” Jennifer said, and Kali cackled.

“Of what?”, Ethan asked, crossing the threshold, and standing there as Ethan walked in too and stood by his side.

When Kali finished laughing, she looked at them and smiled. “Derek thinks the Martins betrayed Talia.”

“They won’t do anything to Lydia, will they?”, Aiden inquired quickly, with a tint of worry in his face.

“No, don’t worry”, Kali replied, beaming, “you’ll have plenty of time to court her when certain people are out of our way.”

Aiden sighed in relief. Ethan asked. “What about the Whittemores?”

“Gerard will have to look into that”, Kali replied, eating some sort of pastry and looking at him, speaking a full mouth, “Why do you ask?”

“No reason”, he said quickly, and looked away.

*

Eyes flashed red in the night before Deucalion fell asleep with Kali in their chambers. The next day, the Hales left for the rest of the way to the Path of Ashes and Winterfell. Things would be set in motion soon.

**Sylune, Scaled Saur Spike, June 1013 AN**

Lady Allyson was in the gardens of the Argent residence within Sylune, located in the south-eastern spike by the eastern banks of Clearwaters as it flowed into the Strait. She was practicing with her bow, shooting at the target and hitting the bull’s eye almost every time.

Her aunt appeared from behind, and sat in a bench in the garden close to her. “You’re slipping”, she said, pointing at two missed arrows.

Allyson eyed her but didn’t answer. “Get to the point and leave me alone to keep practicing.”

Kate rose, upset. “So you, of all, are angry?”

Allyson was about to shoot an arrow but turned the bow down and stopped holding the string. “What do you want, aunt Kate?”

“You may not get to be a little Princess”, she said, mocking, “but now that you won’t stay in Sylune, it’s me who can’t return to the Cape. I wanted to be the Storm Lady, Allyson.”

“Great!”, Allyson said, sarcastically, “now we can both be as unhappy. I bet you like that.”

Kate groaned. “Child. If you don’t grow up you won’t achieve a thing. I know your little secret with Stiles’s squire. It would be a shame if your mother knew”, she said, pouting, “he wouldn’t ever let Stiles think about taking him down there, don’t you think?”

Allyson was about to pick some more arrows, but she froze. She looked at Kate with a blank expression. “What is it you want from me, Kate? It’s not my fault I’m your brother’s firstborn.”

“Of course not!”, she purred. “It would be so unfair. I wouldn’t do that to my dear niece!”

Allyson seemed unmoved. Kate continued. “I was just thinking that with your recommendation, maybe my squire could train with Sir John. He was the best knight in the Kingdom, wasn’t he?”

Allyson let out a deep breath in relief. “You could’ve just asked. Promise me you won’t tell mother about Scott.”

“I promise”, she said, smiling, and brought her hand to her heart in solemn oath, or a parody of one. She got up and walked to leave, but after a few steps she stopped. “Oh, Allyson, one more thing.”

“What?”, Allyson asked, without looking back at her.

“You don’t really belong in the Marshes.”

Allyson didn’t reply.

*

Gerard and Victoria were standing by a balcony that overlooked the Strait during sunset, facing each other. The last ships were just arriving and the sea looked calm with a few waves breaking the orange reflection of the sinking sun.

Victoria rested her back against a Draconian-style column, decorated with claws and the skull of a dragon. She held the Red Orb Kate had brought from the Argent residence in Storm Cape. Gerard looked at her wearily.

“This entails a major setback. Either Martin or Whittemore have played us.”

Victoria gritted her teeth and looked away at the sea. “Doesn’t matter. We’ll deal with all of them.”

“Now, now”, Gerard said, laughing acridly, “We’ll plan it out. We’re back in Sylune. Now we have to focus in the Royal Family. We have an advantage, and that is Chris’s presence in the Palace.”

“How will that help? Do you think he would collaborate if we told him?”

“My son is far too brainwashed by the Holy Mother for that”, Gerard spat out. “No, Kate will have to take matters in her own hands. I’ve already told her what to do. Matt will begin training there with John, Parrish, Stiles’s squire and Jackson’s boy soon.”

She nodded. “I see. How long will this take?”

“The Boltons are still on our side, I’m sure. We’ll find the right time.”

She clutched the orb until her fingertips became white.

“Be patient. And remember about Saur power and history”, Gerard continued.

“Fire and blood”, a voice came from the door, walking towards them, and the woman leaned over the rail. It was Kate. “Saurs have always taken what is theirs with dragons and blood magic.”

“The Salthariens made a terrible mistake, though”, Gerard added.

Kate nodded. “And we won’t. No Hale will be left, and no Ewyn will dream the end of our era.”

Victoria smiled and then laughed. “Won’t you miss your northern boy, Kate?”, with judgement in her eyes. Gerard coughed.

Kate squinted hers. “He’s just a distraction. He matters nothing to me. Our family does” Kate took the Orb from Victoria. She turned to look at the horizon, her will determined. Gerard squeezed her shoulder.

**Sylune, Valley Spike, June 1013 AN**

Allyson was in Lydia’s library, ogling through a history book while she did more extensive readings on Astral magic for her projects in the Astral Society of Sylune.

“Have you managed to talk to Parrish yet?”, Allyson asked her friend.

Lydia was playing with her strawberry curls as she quirked her mouth.

“Not even close”, she said, and looked away from the book to stare at Allyson. The magic lenses she had been casting before her eyes to look at the smaller handwriting in the book dissipated.

“How come?”, Allyson inquired absently, inspecting her nails.

“Well”, Lydia replied, “I haven’t seen Stuart in weeks. Thank the Light you’re back or I’d be bored to death.”

“And how come that?”, Allyson said, looking at her now.

“He’s still upset about being betrothed to Cora. Maybe he’s in denial, but he hasn’t taken it well. Stiles doesn’t know what to do.”

“Have you seen Stiles since the Council?”

“Once, for the project”, she replied. “He’s coming later today.”

Allyson’s face lit up. Lydia noticed. “Yes, Scott comes too.”

“Am I that obvious?”, she said.

“Yeah”, Lydia said, smirking, “you both are. You’re adorable.”

Allyson squinted her eyes. “I get enough teasing from Kate.”

“No, I approve”, Lydia said, flipping a page of her book.

Allyson swallowed. “So, anyway. What do you think, now that we know the results? Claudia and Talia were in favor of a betrothal with Cora. I overheard my family talking about the Boltons, so I guess they somehow convinced them to support Stuart’s betrothal with me. Was it your father or Jackson’s that voted for Cora?”

“Why would the Boltons vote for you?”, Lydia asked, confused.

“I’m not even sure”, she said, “I only overheard it, back in Storm Cape. My father doesn’t know a thing.”

“My father did vote for you”, she said, “so if your grandfather brokered an alliance with Deucalion, it must have been Jackson’s father that voted for Cora. But why?”

“And we’re back to Parrish. What matters could his father have with the Hales…”

“You need to delve into the Bolton affairs”, she said, “See what your family is up to.”

“I haven’t heard anything else in Sylune”, Allyson said, “I guess it doesn’t matter now. I’m not going to be the Princess. Cora is.”

Lydia sighed. “Yeah. She is.” Her face dropped and she closed the book. She looked sad.

“Hey, are you okay?”, Allyson asked, putting her hand over Lydia’s cheek and thumbing gently over her cheekbone. “Come here.”

Allyson and Lydia hugged briefly, and then they separated. Lydia cleared her throat.

“I wish I can see him soon. Do you think I will get along with the Princess? She’s like a force of nature.”

“You may like each other”, Allyson smiled, actually, “But I think the Hales hate all the Sylunites all the same.”

“Sometimes I hate all the Sylunites”, she said.

“Now, now, is that you or do I hear Stuart?”, Allyson teased.

“Please, not you too”, Lydia said, rubbing her eyelids with her hands. “I’m tired enough with my mother’s judgement.”

“Okay, okay. How about we go for a walk before Stiles and Scott arrive?”

“Yeah, I’d love to take a break”, Lydia said, and got up, loudly pushing the chair apart from the table.

*

Stiles and Scott arrived in time for lunch and the four young nobles had a big table laid for them in a room with a balcony that overlooked the river, right in the north of the city, where Clearwaters crossed the Walls of Sylune. They were on the eastern side of the city.

“So”, Allyson said, placing a chunk of steak in her mouth and savoring it, “how is your family, Scott? Stiles?”

Scott was first to speak, with a wide smile from ear to ear. “My mother is doing well. She’s like crazy learning cooking recipes with the Pentosi herbs Deaton brought last time.”

Stiles chuckled and when he was done swallowing his cup of Meadower wine he continued. “My mom is fine”, he said, “and my father is fine as well. He’s training with Isaac, Parrish, Scott and that new guy… Matt? Wasn’t he Kate’s squire?”

“Yeah, why?”, Allyson said, over a chunk of bread.

“He’s mean”, Scott said, “though I don’t let him near Isaac as much.”

“Lydia, do you know why Isaac is always acting like a scared chicken?”, Stiles said, looking at her with curious eyes.

She got closer to the table. “Don’t tell anyone. Jackson hasn’t told me anything, but I think his father… Sir Coach, I think, doesn’t treat him well.”

Scott gasped. “What does he do to him?”

Allyson looked concerned. “Are you sure?”

“No! It’s just what it looks like. We’d have to ask Jackson. Or himself.”

“I’m not asking Jackson”, Stiles said. “And if it was that bad, wouldn’t he report it? You know, chivalry code and that”, he said, moving his hands in the air.

“I hope he would”, Lydia said, quirking up her lips.

“I’ll look into that”, Scott said, stabbing his potatoes angry.

Allyson held his hand under the table, and smiled comfortingly, showing her dimples. “We will.”

**Winterfell, June 1013 AN**

Cora was slashing a fir tree’s bark with her sword, leaving the marks frozen after she had inflicted them and then growing frustrated when she couldn’t slash through the layer of ice. Gelomancy and training were her usual ways to cool down, but nothing seemed to make her anxiety leave her after they’d returned to Winterfell. She felt a crushing sensation in her chest because she knew her days there were numbered.

“Are you feeling better?”, her father asked her, sitting in a rock with his head resting in one of his closed fists.

“Not really, no”, Cora barked, hitting so hard the thin sheet of ice in the bark began fracturing.

“My dear, I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“I know, dad”, she said, her breathing ragged, as she stuck her sword in the soil. “I know”, she said again, sadly.

David got up and went to comfort her daughter, hugging her, and then picking up the sword to admire her spell, that had made it glow faintly blue all over the blade.

“You’ve done some great work here. You have some talent for this!”

“Thanks. But I won’t probably keep it up…”

“What’s wrong?”, her father said, quirking an eyebrow and handing her the blade.

“I wanted to travel to the Deep North”, she said, with longing, sitting down in the cold earth and placing her blade extended over her knees, balancing it. “But there are no Ancient Runes in Sylune.”

The Deep North was the name given to the glaciers in the northern end of the Dark Lands, where cold forests and tundra gave in to the frozen wastes that extended, uninhabited, all along the northern coasts of the Eastern Lands. In those uncharted regions of the Dark Sea, violent winds would make any ship crash against the permafrost cliffs, if it hadn’t been ruptured by an iceberg before. There were also rumors of krakens, giant whales as well as other mythological creatures that largely kept sailors away from perilous voyages.   

The North was the home of the Syns, and the Deep North had been scarcely inhabited since at least the times of the Salthariens, and probably before. The glaciers were filled with abandoned caves, wildling settlings of uncivilized Syns. The worship of the Icy Spirits was the only religion for those who never stepped in anything other than virgin snow, and old inscriptions in the Old Tongue of the north kept the secrets of gelomancy.

Since Cora had an interest in the craft, she had been there once with her uncle and siblings when she was younger, but she was determined to return. Her betrothal came with her presence as Princess required in Sylune, so her dream had shattered, like a lance of ice hurled against a stone wall. 

Cora’s father sighed. “I’m sorry about that. Maybe there’s something of your interest in the Royal library?”

She scoffed.

*

Peter and Derek were having a heated argument in front of Talia’s main desk, where she was sitting in one of her chambers in the castle. Her arms were crossed and she was looking at her son, who was shouting at Peter.

“No”, he said, “you don’t get it. It wasn’t the Boltons… it must’ve been Lord Whittemore!”

Peter smirked and imitated Talia’s pose. “And what makes you so sure of that?”

“Jennifer told me!”, he spat out.

Peter chuckled. “Your little fling must be wrong then. Or lying.”

“She wouldn’t lie to me”, Derek said, furious. “Would you?”, he said, raising his eyebrows defiantly and getting closer.

Peter stepped closer too, unfazed. “You don’t know everything”, Peter said. “But your mother knows I’m right”, he said, smugly. “It’s the Boltons we’ll have to take action against.”

“Mother?”, Derek turned, and asked in a more neutral voice.

“As much as I hate Peter being right”, she said, “I’m with your uncle this time.”

“Hey”, Peter said, in a falsely hurt tone, scowling.

Derek’s eyes flashed blue, but his mother flashed red back at him, and he stepped back. “Why don’t you tell me what I’m missing, then?”

Peter was about to open his mouth when Talia spoke, “We can’t”, she simply said, looking up at him, not trying to make an excuse.

“Fine”, he said, “then I’m done here, mother”, Derek spoke roughly, and turned to walk out of the room. He needed to vent, or hit something.

When he was gone, Talia looked at Peter and sighed.

“Won’t someone find out, eventually?”, Peter said.

“That wouldn’t be good for anyone. The less people who know about it, the better.”

“Only you and I know”, Peter said, methodically; “But I suspect at least two people in Sylune know as well.”

“One is obvious”, she said. “Has he told…?”

“No, I was thinking about someone else.”

“Who is it?”, Talia said.

“Not important”, Peter said, smiling, and left as well. Talia’s younger brother had always been a mischievous tease to her. Probably in revenge for their childhood.

Talia sighed, alone in the room, tapping her fingers on her forearm.

*

Laura and Derek were in their armors, fighting against each other in the training grounds within the castle walls. Some servants were gathered around to watch the match, with David and Cora overlooking from a wooden rail. The morning sun was over them, but it was still chilly in Winterfell. The Hale twins and had always trained together, so they were very even and it was difficult for one to beat the other, with a lot of matches ending in a draw or having one of them forfeit out of boredom.

But today Derek was distracted. He ended in the ground, his wolf helmet lying some feet away from his head, still oscillating. Laura’s foot was over his chest and his throat was at the mercy of Icefang’s pointy end. Laura sported a smug smile all over. “Anger makes you predictable. Get over the animal instincts!”

“Shut up”, he said, coughing as he moved the sword away and took her hand to get up, getting the dirt off his ass and the back of his thigh armor. “You were lucky I got blinded by the sun.”

“It wasn’t luck”, she said, smiling, “I placed you were I wanted because you were only after one thing, the offensive. As I said, predictable.”

He pouted like a grumpy cat.

“Let’s rest for a bit”, she suggested.

They drank some ale on a bench in the grounds, sitting alone, while they got their strength back.

“What is it mother won’t tell me?”, he asked more to himself than to her.

Laura let the mug down loudly and wiped her mouth. “I don’t know! But why does it matter? You trust mother, right?”

“Yes, I do”, he said, sighing.

“Then do as you must”, he said. “We all should.”

He looked at Cora in the distance, talking with some boys she had just been training with. “I trust her, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel this is wrong.”

Laura sighed too, and took his hand. “The Queen and Stiles will be there in Sylune with Cora. You remember how those two got along as kids, right?”

Derek laughed fondly. “I remember when he beat her once with the sword and she spent all evening chasing after him.”

Laura started laughing too. “Yeah. Not a chance now!” She looked away, where Cora had resumed training, and she was swinging her sword elegantly against two men at the same time. She was holding her stance with the skills only Hales had, but it was clear she couldn’t win.

“She fights so much like dad”, Derek said.

Laura smiled and got up, walking to her sister, and looking at the men.

“I see you ruffians have taken it against a little girl alone”, she winked at them, “Let’s see how well you do in fair combat!”

Cora eyed her briefly and pulled a face, but then she focused on her opponents again. The fight began.

 

**Sylune, Royal Palace, June 1013 AN**

In the Queen’s private chambers, Claudia was sitting in a chair next to the bed, on which John and Melissa were sitting as well, resting. They had just returned from having a private lunch together. They were talking about the Hales.

“Talia sent me a letter last week”, the Queen explained, “The Boltons are summoned to Winterfell tomorrow.”

John raised an eyebrow. Melissa seemed puzzled.

“Talia will confront them. Things in the north are about to change”, she continued. “The Boltons haven’t been up to date with their duties, either.”

John nodded, “and by disrespecting the regional lords, they disrespect the crown. We can’t let them make fools of us.”

Claudia sighed. “It always proves so hard to make everyone content.”

“A Queen has to make hard choices”, Melissa said, squeezing her thigh.

“Did Talia tell you anything about their girl?”, John said, chewing on something.

Claudia nodded. “She’s better, I guess. Compliant, at least.”

He nodded back. “Now we only need the same for Stuart!”, he said loudly.

A servant knocked on the door to tell Melissa that Scott was looking for her. She apologized and left the monarchs alone.

“I don’t understand why he’s so opposed. Has he always been so unkind to Syns?”, the King asked his wife.

“I don’t think so”, Claudia said, shaking her head, “It seems like no choice would’ve made him happy. I don’t know what to tell him, he’s been shutting me out for weeks, locked in at the Spike.”

“Let’s give him some more space. Maybe Stiles will help him. He told me he’s trying.”

“Ah, Stiles”, Claudia said, fondly. “He has it far worse and is complaining less.”

John nodded, and shrugged. “The way they are, I guess. But when it’s not about the big picture, Stiles whines as much as Stuart.”

Both parents laughed at the same time, letting some of the tension from their spirits lift.

*

Stiles was reading in the Royal library, alone, when his mother came in with Master Harris, who solemnly bowed before her after having shown her to the Prince, and then left to his usual seat. Stiles was tapping his fingers nervously against the book, and stopped when she sat next to him.

“Hi, mom”, Stiles said, smiling weakly.

“How are you, my dear?”, she said.

“Not so bad”, he said shyly, then paused. He looked at her from the side. “I wish I could say the same for Stuart.”

“I’ve formally summoned him here tomorrow. Will you make sure he comes? I want to talk to him privately.”

“I’ll do my best”, he said, unsure.

“What are you reading?”, she inquired, looking at his book.

“I was reading about Aeron and the last Syn war. I guess it’s good we aren’t at war now… yet”, he said, smirking.

His mother laughed. “Actually, that’s close to what I wanted to tell you. Have you gotten as far as the part about Ewyn Stilinski yet?”

“Hmm, not yet, no”, Stiles said.

“Make sure you do”, she said, simply, smiling, as she pulled a necklace from one of her light yellow dress pockets. It hung from her hand; it had a simple thin silver chain and an amulet, a hollow six-pointed star made of shining diamond and more silver.

“When I was a child, I thought Ewyn’s dream was a tale for kids”, she explained. “My parents gave this to me, they were positive that the prophecy would be fulfilled soon. I wasn’t so sure.”

“What is it? I can feel it’s light-blessed”, he said, taking it and inspecting it, smiling when it lit warmly in his hand, emitting a faint white aura.

“It’s from Ewyn himself, but not many people know. It’s about the most valuable things that the Stilinskis have passed on for the time we have sat in that chair in the Throne Room.”

He gaped. “Mom! This is for the Father of the Realm, isn’t it?”

She looked at him fondly and cupped his cheek with her hand. “My dear. I know your brother is the heir to the Throne. But you two have always meant the same to me. You’re the one who’s more like me, and that’s just how it is. You’re the one who feels the Light, and you’re the one who understands Belerion, like Ewyn understood Nessaria. Only some Scaled and Stilinskis have ever been able to befriend dragons.”

Stiles looked away, blushing. “Mother… I… I can’t accept it. Even if Stuart wouldn’t want it.”

“You have to”, she replied promptly; “I would never ask for you to replace Stuart in anything, my love. My heart is for you both. But I want you to do what he can’t”, she said, taking his hand between hers and closing it with the pendant inside. “Do this as a favor to me. Stiles,”

“What do you mean?”, Stiles asked, confused.

“This is not a mere symbol to watch for the Light”, she said, and her face became troubled. “Stiles, if the darkness ever comes to you, and there’s nothing else you can do… the power this holds is your last resort.”

“Mother?”, he said, becoming uneasy, a tint of fear in his eyes. “What darkness? Why would I need a last resort?”

“You’ll understand if the time comes. Evil can take many forms, ones we find hard to believe. It can find its way into the hearts of those we love”, she sighed, “Even into the heart of dragons. And sometimes, there’s no way back.”

Stiles looked worried, but her mother hugged him to comfort him. “I just need you to make this one promise. Keep it with you. For me.”

“Okay, mother”, he whispered softly, his face buried in her neck, and he felt a tear forming in the corner of his eye. “I love you.”

A bit after that, Stiles found himself sniffling alone in the library, his eyes a bit red, and looking at the pendant he was clutching in his hand absently. His grip relaxed and he toyed with the chain, slipping it in between his fingers. He finally shoved it into his pocket and kept reading, pushing his guilt to the back of his mind. He eventually got to the part about Ewyn’s dream that her mother must’ve meant. The Old Dynic read:

_Ewyn Stilinski, first of his name, is said to have had a dream some time before Nessaria’s devastation and assuming the new Throne. He had been a vocal opponent to the war Aeron waged against the northern Kingdom, dismissing the antisynist accusations running amok in the Draconian court and Aeron’s paranoia. The Light revealed to him in a dream that an end to the hatred between Saurs and Syns would come after the whole Eastern Lands had been unified under a Holy Sylune. It is also said that said union must be one of a True Saur and a True Syn to bring forth the peace. But were the hatred of Syns and Saurs to continue, Ewyn dreamed, the Realms of all men would be consumed in the flames of Death. This is the reason he confronted Nessaria._

*

That night, Stiles went back to their Spike residence and he went to Stuart’s chambers. He found Parrish in his way, and he patted him goodnight in the shoulder. He knocked on the door and came in. His brother was giving his back to him, sitting by a table where he was writing a letter. The window was open but there was a new moon that night, so one could only see the sea and the stars in the sky. There was a candle by Stuart’s hand that lit the paper he was writing and the inkpot.

“Hey”, Stuart said, in a bright voice. “Where have you been?”

“I was in the Palace. With mother.”

“U-huh”, Stuart said, focused on his writing now.

Stiles coughed. Stuart turned back and looked. “Yes?”

“You’re going tomorrow”, Stiles announced, but then faltered, “right?”

Stuart gave him a weak smile. “Do you want me to go?”

“Yes!”, Stiles said. “I want you to make Mother happy.”

“I will go if she insists”, Stuart declared, “but I won’t marry Cora Hale now or ever”, he stated firmly.

Stiles looked down. “Stuart…”

“That’s all there is to it. Please, don’t make me have this conversation twice. I have enough with Mother…”, Stuart started saying emphatically but came down, almost whispering when he finished.

Stiles sighed. He walked forward and stopped behind his brother, placing his hands in Stuart’s shoulders and massaging them slowly but firmly. Stuart groaned with pleasure and tilted his head backwards. Stiles came down and pecked Stuart’s cheek. Stuart smiled.

“Who are you writing to?”, he asked.

“Lydia”, Stuart said, letting the quill down in the table. “I haven’t seen her in weeks”, he yawned, “But I’ll finish tomorrow.”

He got up and turned to face Stiles. Stiles pushed him forward, making him sit on the table, opening Stuart’s legs for him to have more space. Stiles hugged Stuart and rested his face in the crook of his neck. Stuart took his chance to start taking off Stiles’s shirt.

Stiles let out a deep breath and began mouthing at Stuart’s neck while he raised his arms for Stuart to finish taking his shirt off. Stuart placed a hand on Stiles’s crotch and felt him hardening. Stiles let out a moan and Stuart took his chance to drag him over himself in the table, as he lay back, smiling when they were face to face. Then Stuart roughly pushed him aside to roll over, until he was over Stiles. Stiles’s cheeks were flushed and Stuart smirked.

“We should take this to the bed”, he said, and grinded against his brother, eliciting a moan from Stiles.

“Yes, yes”, Stiles said with fast breaths.

They moved to the bed and made out pressing against each other some more time. In the end, Stiles spent part of the night ridding Stuart like there was no tomorrow. Stuart came gasping and wide-eyed when Stiles did, squirting thick ropes all over Stuart’s chest and squeezing him. Stiles grabbed Stuart’s shoulder so hard he dug his nails in, but Stuart didn’t notice in the heat of the moment, when all he could feel was the pleasure of being with Stiles. After they had recovered from their climax together and cleaned, they lay in the bed next to each other, staring silently at the ceiling.

Stiles had been holding up all day, so he tried to choke a sob, but he ended up crying a bit, turning to muffle his noise against the pillow. Stuart shifted closer to him and half-embraced him for a moment, then moving his hand to pet his hair and comfort him.

“Shh… it’s alright”, he whispered to Stiles, kissing his temple, “I’m right here. What’s wrong?”

After some moments Stiles stopped crying, but his eyes were all red and there were tears in his cheeks. Stuart wiped some away with his thumb, and some he licked after pressing his nose to Stiles’s cheek and whispering to the angle of his jaw. “You can tell me anything.”

“You know I don’t want to leave”, Stiles said, with a shaky voice, “I really don’t. But we’re star-crossed, Stuart. I can’t deceive myself, not now that it’s so real”, he stopped for a moment, “not any longer”, he said, his eyes wet again.

Stuart pulled him close, fully hugging him now, choosing the comfort of body heat over words. He felt like crying too, and thought of nothing to say. Finally, his voice came out barely a whisper, also shaky. “Just stay with me, please”, then confessed, “I’m nothing without you.”

*

The Throne Room was well lit by the midday sun, covered in the warm embrace of the Sylunite day, when the Crown Prince stepped inside. There was no one inside but the Queen. Stuart looked sideways and dismissed Sir Parrish, which left them as the only two souls in the room.

Stuart stepped forward and stopped before the first step up the Throne platform. He didn’t kneel, move or speak, just took off his armor helmet and held the golden piece of metal close to his waist. He waited, staring at his mother, but when their gazes locked she was as unrelenting as he was, in her white and silver Queen dress. She wasn’t wearing the crown, though.

He finally caved in. “Mother, you summoned me. What is it you want?”, he said, in an impatient tone.

She was unaffected. “I did summon you. Because you wouldn’t come. Why are you hiding from me?”

“I’m not hiding”, he spat out, angry, “I just felt like spending time alone. Is that a crime now?”, he accused, scowling.

“Stuart, don’t take me for a fool”, she said, firmly. “I know why you left the Palace and won’t talk to anyone. You’re still in denial.”

“There’s nothing to deny, is there?”, he said, expression neutral.

“Certainly not the fact that you will marry Cora Hale, and have her be the mother of your children?”, she asked, standing up, raising her voice.

He stood there for a moment, following her with his eyes. When she stilled, he spoke, simply. “I will marry no one.”

“Why?”, she spat out, suddenly angry. “What is it you wanted? You’ll have the Kingdom, and you’ll be the King in your own home. You’ve always said you liked those things!”, she screamed, “Or has that changed?”

“Why would I want any of that if you send Stiles away?”, he said.

She smiled sarcastically. “You think I want to?”, she said, her anger flooding back. “I wish he had been born first! Nothing of this would be happening. It looks like fate wants to spite me”, she said, sighing, “I’ve always given you everything! I even let you play those dark games of yours.”

Stuart became angry himself, too, clenching his fist and pressing it to his chest plate. “I play no games with magic”, he said, roughly, “And I do know Stiles is so much better than me. You don’t have to remind me of it!”

She seemed in shock. “If you think that, why don’t you learn from him?”

“Because I’m not him!”, he screamed, “And I don’t want any Queen!”

“But why?”, she asked again. “Is it about that Lydia girl? You could’ve told me, at least!”, she raised her tone again. “Or was it Allyson? You know nothing of the Bolton affair, do you?”

He looked at her with outrage and confusion, furrowing his brow. “I know of no such things”, he said, “and neither Lydia nor Allyson. You miss the point. This is not because Cora is a Syn, if that’s what you think.”

“Good! Because the last thing we need for these weddings is more Argent and Hale drama!”

“There won’t be weddings!”, he repeated, irritated, pressing his knuckles against his thigh armor, making it clash. “Your little play with Talia to fulfill Ewyn’s visions will not feature me as an actor, and you will not sell Stiles away like livestock to appease the southerners!”, he screamed, red with rage. Then he continued, as determined, but with a more even voice, “I’ll be King, and I won’t let that happen. I won’t let anything separate me from my brother.”

She felt defied, and raised to the threat, raising her eyebrows. “And what will you do?”

He took one step up, scowling, but then relaxed his face and stated, sincere, “There’s not a single thing I wouldn’t do”, and calmly said, “I’ll destroy anyone that tries to tear us apart.”

His mother gaped. “How dare you! I brought you both into this world!”

“And we will stay that way!”, he said, getting even closer to her. “We will rule. _Together_ ”, he spoke, staring deep inside Claudia’s eyes.

Rage left the Queen’s face when the horror of realization hit her. “No…”, she said, with sadness in her voice, “But… Stiles... Tell me it’s not true!”

Stuart didn’t move a muscle, and stayed in place. “It’s the truth”, he simply said.

“I don’t believe you!”, she said, absent, in shock, turning to look at a glass panel that filtered the rays of the sun. “That’s…”, she began saying, with a shaky voice, “…that’s treason. You both could be executed.”

He turned sideways, looking at the ground and pondering her words.

“You can try to stop us”, he said, calm, “but remember I won’t hesitate even if it’s my own mother that stands in my way.”

She tried to look at him, but averted her look again. She brought her hands to her face. “What have I done wrong?”, she whispered, softly, to herself.

Stuart didn’t respond. He turned and began walking away, getting more angry each step he took away from the Throne. When he was in the middle of the room he threw his helmet aside, and the loud clash it made when it hit a column was still echoing in their minds even after Claudia was long out of sight.

*

Kate was wearing a brown cloak and holding the Red Orb, in one of the dungeons deep below Belerion’s lair, where the dragon was absent. The dungeons were about the only part remaining in the palace from the times of the Salthariens, and the Argents kept copies of the original blueprints in Storm Cape’s library Kate knew by heart. Another cloaked figure appeared from the end of the dark corridor, only lit with red magical lights in their presences.

“No one has noticed, yet”, Matt said, revealing his face, when he stopped walking.

“They will soon enough, I bet”, she said, smirking, “but it doesn’t matter. The deed is done.”

Matt smiled, as Kate shook the Red Orb and it glowed strongly. Within, the opaque blood red turned into a clear image where one could see Belerion flying north and over Clearwaters, high in the sky.

“Sylunites should be careful tonight”, he said, smirking too.

“We all should!”, she said, vividly.

 

**Winterfell, 24 th June 1013 AN**

On what would be known as the Day of Fire, Belerion arrived in the Dark Lands with the sun high in the morning sky. He flew over peasants and farms, bewitched by the Red Orb and visions of blood and fire. The Syn peoples that inhabited there hadn’t seen a dragon in their lifetime. Some brave and imprudent ones stopped their duties to admire the beast that soared below the clouds, but the few that remembered the name of Nessaria from a thousand years ago cowered and ran like it would be their last day. Because the last time a dragon flew towards Winterfell, it was the last day of many people in the Eastern Lands and the North.

Belerion arrived at Winterfell, unlike Nessaria, who never got there. The majestic beast halted before the Castle Walls, where the Hale lords were expecting the arrival of the Boltons, scheduled for that day, and who were running late. Talia and David’s heartbeats paced up, and they flashed their eyes at Belerion and tried to shift, but it was useless. With a loud roar, the dragon, flapping its wings to stay in the air before the castle, let out a fiery tornado that scorched half of the Walls, and then resumed his flight to spread the destruction of his inferno all over the city of Winterfell. Every Syn there tried to flee amidst the chaos, fire and screams.

When Belerion was finished and flew south again, Winterfell was no more. Ashes fell over a massive pile of rubble, shattered walls and calcinated bodies. The silence of a graveyard dominated the place.

*

Peter Hale was badly burned, with the right half of his face red and black, covered in blisters. He dragged himself on the ground, with his arms, moving forwards and gritting his teeth in pain, trying to escape the flames that surrounded Winterfell. His breaths were uneven and ragged, and he could feel his blood burning as well as a deep cold taking over.

He heard a horse’s neigh as the animal’s trotting became closer, but the world was becoming a very faraway place in his mind. Peter summoned the last of his strength to tilt his face and look up, where Lord Bolton was  getting off his horse, jumping to the ground. He was smiling. Peter kept staring, confused, his blue eyes watering from the pain.

“Dear Peter Hale! How are you feeling?”, Deucalion said cheerily.

Peter didn’t respond, because he couldn’t. He kept staring, scratching the grass, trying to prod himself up, but lacking the strength to do it.

“Let me help you”, Deucalion said, with a smile, walking to where Peter was lying on the ground and kneeling. He quickly grabbed Peter by his chest and pulled him up to meet his eyes. “They say it’s a tragedy to outlive all of your family members”, Deucalion smirked, “so I’ll make this easier for you.”

Deucalion slashed Peter’s throat with his other hand, and let him fall to the ground, soaking the soil with his blood as Peter vainly tried to get a final breath. The blue shine disappeared from his eyes, and his body stayed there, unmoving, staring at the nothingness. Deucalion sighed and got up, looking back at Ennis, who was just arriving.

“It is done, then”, Ennis said from his horse, looking at Peter’s corpse.

“Bury the body inside the city”, Deucalion said simply, getting up and taking his horse’s reins in his hands. “Make sure nobody is left.”

*

Cora was riding her white mare, Albina, in the fields around Winterfell, and she was alone. She had agreed to meet with Peter within the castle. When she saw the black smoke, an ominous warning, she hurried. The sight before her made her heart constrict. All she could see were the flames, but no traces of Belerion, though she knew that extent of damage could only be attributed to dragonfire. She looked for survivors all around the city, trotting slowly close to the walls, and found a sinister image that would forever stay in her mind: she saw his uncle being slain by Deucalion Bolton; and Ennis Bolton coming afterwards, smiling. She froze where she was.

For a moment all she could think of was her family being dead; and she felt betrayal, pain, fury, sadness and loneliness, all at once. Then her hands acted on their own, and barely aware of what she was doing, she rode Albina swiftly to the Deep North, escaping Belerion’s destruction and her past life, leaving the ashes behind. In the north, she would be safe and free from Stuart Stilinski, the only one that could be behind the destruction of her home and the death of her family. She had no one left to trust. 

*

Laura and Derek managed to shift and flee to the woods on the western side of Winterfell, without looking back. Laura howled for Derek to keep running, escaping the destruction Belerion was inflicting upon the northern capital. When they were far enough, surrounded by trees and the dead silence of the forest, only the smoke in the horizon was a tell of what they had left behind. They shifted back and lay naked on the floor, catching their breaths.

“We can’t go back”, Laura said, agitated, turning her head to look at Derek, anxious, “we have to keep going. Belerion may return. Stuart may come.”

Derek let out a deep breath. “And then what?”, he spat out, “We have to go back. They may still…”

Laura flashed her eyes red, and Derek was hit with the cold truth. “Laura, your eyes…”, he said, weakly.

“I know”, she said, on the verge of tears, “I could feel it when it happened. They’re gone, Derek. Everything is gone! You’re the only pack I can feel.”

Derek openly cried, and soon Laura did too. They embraced tightly, their bodies covered in only the dirt of the forest, and their hearts crushed with the loss of everything they had ever held dear.

*

Kali was trotting with her horse down the Path of Ashes, by the side of Deucalion. She smiled.

“Everything is running smoothly; Ennis and Jennifer will take care of Peter’s body”, she said, “Winterfell will no longer stand proud, and neither will any Hale.”

Deucalion looked at her and nodded. “Belerion already flies south. By tomorrow, we’ll know if the rest of their plan has succeeded.”

They resumed their normal pace to meet with Ennis and Jennifer, who came from Winterfell, and return to Grizzly Hills, riding down the Path of Ashes. On that same ground, a thousand years ago Nessaria burned the fields and whoever her flames caught in her frenzy. Much more inconspicuously, on this day, the shadow of death was soaring the skies too, once again heading for the Holy City. 

**Sylune, 24 th June 1013 AN**

Stuart was outside for sundown. He was standing at the Palace’s main terrace, pacing around, when the Queen approached with four guards, two on each side. Her face was determined and stern. Stuart, who had became still, looked sideways and raised an eyebrow as she came closer. She stopped, and so did the armed guards.

“You have left me no choice”, she said, coldly. “I won’t let you drag Stiles with you.”

He became infuriated. “What?”

“Seize him”, she commanded, and the men advanced.

Stuart tried to break free from their iron grip, but they overpowered him, and then he tried to cast a spell to push them aside, but the Queen had given one of them silencing handcuffs. They put them on Stuart and he still tried to squirm away, irritated but not fully understanding the situation.

“What do you think you are doing? What will you tell everyone?”, he yelled, angry.

“I don’t know”, she said, looking at him firmly, “but I won’t set you free until you change your mind and tell me where Belerion is”, then looked at the guards, “Take him to the dungeons.”

“Belerion? What are you talking about?”, he said, confused, “You will pay for this!”, he spat out, as the guards shoved him forcefully to get him moving into the Palace. “I swear it upon my Saur blood!”, he screamed.

Soon Claudia was alone, looking at the Strait in the distance, and let out a deep sigh as she brought her hands to her face, in a silent plea to the Light for things to become right again. She clasped her hands in prayer and lowly mumbled to the statue before her, “Ewyn, give me the strength to believe I’m walking the right path. Because everyone seems to be miserable…”

Ruling had never proved itself an easy task to Claudia Stilinski. And it had never proved itself harder than now.

*

Belerion arrived in Sylune as the sun was sinking in the Strait. As he flew over the Holy Walls close to the main gate and the Path of Ashes, the alarm bells were made sound all over the city, signifying an impending doom. From its serpentine, red slits, the beast was in a haze of fire and destruction, and could hear no commands other than those of the Red Orb.

After loudly announcing its arrival and landing in the bridge that connected the Martin and Whittemore Spikes, charring all the guards there, he took off again and headed for the Whittemore Spike. It breathed a storm of fire and destroyed most of the noble residences in there, burning the people inside alive. In his wake, only black ashes remained.

After that, Belerion’s flight over the masses that tried to hide and get away from the city got him to land in the Martin spike.  

*

Lydia and Jackson were in Lydia’s home when everything happened. They were in a bench in the darkening gardens when they heard the bells. Both hurried inside to find Lydia’s mother, who was receiving the news from a servant. She looked horrified.

“What is happening, mother?”, Lydia inquired, impatient.

“Belerion…”, she managed to say, as a loud noise interrupted them. The windows shattered in a thousand little pieces of glass and they saw the silhouette of wings swiftly crossing their field of view as the shockwave unstabilized them.

Jackson was staring in terror at the broken window, and they had all crouched. Some objects had fallen from their shelves and it looked like the ceiling could come down any moment.

“The basement”, Lydia urged, nervous. She took her mother and made her begin walking, and Jackson followed them both down the corridors and stairs. When they were about to arrive, a deafening roar and what felt like an earthquake made them fall to the ground in  one of the corridors.

“Faster!”, Jackson urged, behind them, and looked back. His eyes widened when he saw the dark wood becoming brighter, then the flames advancing towards them.

“Lydia, MOVE!”, he screamed, again, and they all tried speed up their race.

“We won’t make it in time!”, she said, looking back briefly where Jackson was. “Not like this!”

“What do you suggest?”, he screamed over the noise. The flames were catching up to them, and the heat was becoming unbearable. They were about to be roasted by Belerion’s fiery breath and they hadn’t even seen the dragon.

“I need you to trust me!”, she screamed, as she grabbed her mother’s wrist and stopped. Her mother closed her eyes.

Jackson saved the distance between them and she took his hand too. He looked at her anxious and unsure, but he had stopped running. They only had a few seconds left. She nodded at him and closed her eyes.

“SHIELD!”, she screamed, and a transparent violet surface surrounded the three of them, becoming more opaque the more Lydia concentrated. She gritted her teeth, and she noticed she was sweating profusely. She let out a deep breath. The three of them squeezed their hands hard, and then the flames finally engulfed the whole corridor and thoroughly burned the basement they were headed to.

*

Stuart was in one of the ill-lit cells in the dungeons of the Palace when Sir Parrish came to free him clandestinely. He had been sent by Stiles after he’d told him about Stuart’s fate. Stiles didn’t believe Stuart had anything to do with Belerion, and neither did Parrish, really, persuaded by the little Prince.

Parrish broke the lock and pushed the creaking door open; making a deep thud that echoed in the Saltharien catacombs. He was carrying a torch. Stuart smiled when he saw him.

“Hey… I didn’t think you’d come”, Stuart said, from the darkness.

“Stiles sent me, actually”, Parrish replied, looking down at Stuart, confused. “But of course I’d have come. “You really have nothing to do with this, right?”

“I swear I don’t”, Stuart said, putting his hands in the air in jest. “I’ve been with you and Stiles all day!”

Parrish smirked, getting down to unchain him, “What have you done to deserve this punishment, then?”

“Not important”, he managed to say, before looking at the ceiling. A small pebble had fallen and what seemed like an earthquake in Sylune soon had them balancing themselves against the slimy stone walls not to fall down. Parrish stopped crouching when it apparently ended.

Stuart raised his eyebrows. “What is happening up there?”

“I don’t know”, Parrish said, hesitant, looking at the door, “I guess we’ll have to find out.” He motioned for Stuart to get going, and left.

Stuart nodded at him and exited the darkening cell, following Parrish up the many stairs and labyrinthic corridors. He knew them by heart from playing there during his childhood, with Stiles, but it was dark and Parrish had the torch.

*

After burning the Valley Spike, Belerion headed down the eastern banks of Clearwaters towards the Royal Palace, burning the Low District in his way, spreading his wings of doom menacingly. The poorer folks ran, searching for refuge or looking for their loved ones, in a chaos of suffering, desperation and general hysteria. The red flames added to the purple shades of the twilight.

Once inside the Inner District, he landed on the main terrace, destroying the Palace doors and looking inside through his blood-injected eyes, fixing his gaze straight into the eyes of her former caretaker, the Queen. Belerion had gone berserker. She was standing in the middle of the room, alone, staring up at the vault, where Ewyn and other Stilinski monarchs watched over. She had been looking for answers, and now she found the mad eyes of Belerion staring right into her soul. She felt vulnerable, for the first time in many years, but found the resolve to keep her ground.

“Belerion, as your Mother, I command you to stop this!”, she screamed, determined, trying to take the beast out of his bloodlust.

She heard footsteps from behind, from one of the side corridors that ended close to the Throne end of the room. Stuart and Parrish came running, and they stopped abruptly when they realized what was going down in the immense room. Stuart looked at Belerion with wide eyes and then at his mother. “Mom! RUN!”, he urged, desperate.

Her mother stared back at him, with tears in her eyes, as Belerion’s flames engulfed the room and a deafening shockwave pushed them against the walls with a gust of wind, making Parrish’s armor clash and hitting Stuart in his shoulder. He let out a shriek.

“Move, move!”, Parrish screamed, grabbing his other arm, and walking away from the flames, “Don’t look back, Stuart! STUART!”, he urged.

Stuart’s face was blank, and he swallowed, hearing his name weakly from behind, looking mesmerized into the flames. Then Parrish’s contact made him come back to reality, and he looked where his friend was going. He started running as fast as he could to never, ever, look back; with a hand in his shoulder.

*

Stiles had been hanging with Heather, Allyson’s handmaiden. He hadn’t seen her in a long time, since she had been to Storm Cape with Allyson. She was Stiles’s childhood friend, and they both shared an interest in Holy Magic. They often practiced in quiet places, like green shady grooves within the District’s most remote gardens. They had been together alone for most of the evening, not aware of what was happening in the city.

They kissed each other goodbye, and Stiles was walking through a side of Ewyn’s terrace, looking at the fires in the distance in horror, when he saw Belerion land and breathe fire into the Throne Room.

He froze in place, holding his books against his chest, gaping in horror. After he had time to process, he turned around and hurried to the bridge over Clearwaters, which led to the western part of the Palace where his father was. All guards were gone, and he felt alone, because he couldn’t see anybody. A shiver came down his spine, wondering if Parrish had managed to sneak Stuart out. As he was about to cross, he heard a person yelling. He looked behind and saw two people running towards his direction. He stopped for them to catch up to him. They were Stuart and Parrish.

“STILES!”, Stuart screamed, stopping to catch his breath, almost falling, but Stiles held him. Stuart looked into him, scared.

“We have to go. Mother is dead”, Stuart said, his voice strangled and almost crying.

Stiles’s eyes widened, but he had no time to react because Belerion’s silhouette emerged from behind the Palace again, flying towards them.

On the other end of the bridge, the King was coming with some men, and they stepped on the bridge to cross it, but stopped when they saw Belerion.

“NOW! GO!”, Stuart screamed, pushing Stiles. Stiles nodded, still blank and pale, and started running to his father. The King was motioning for him to come.

“Stiles!”, his father screamed from the distance, motioning for him to come.

Stuart and Parrish followed him in his race, but Belerion was faster, and he landed in the middle of the bridge, spreading his winds and sending a wave of wind that put the three of them to the ground and broke part of the rails. Stuart and Parrish ended up close to the edge; and Stiles, being the closest one to the dragon, almost fell over, managing to hold on to some stone fragments that were quickly becoming detached.

Stuart, who was crouching to resist the blast, quickly got up and started running towards his brother, feeling even more desperate than he had before. “STILES! HOLD ON!”, he screamed at the top of his lungs. 

Stiles held on, but Belerion took off and rose a little into the sky to charge right at the twins. Staring into Stiles’s eyes, and roaring, he let out another fiery breath that threatened to engulf the bridge and make the middle part of it collapse.

“NO!”, Stuart screamed, as he took Stiles’s hand, but the blast of wind from Belerion taking off unsteadied him, and his shoulder hurt too much from before. Stiles’s hand slipped. Stuart stared into his eyes as Stiles fell into the abyss. “STILES!”

“Save yourself”, was all Stuart could hear from his brother, barely a whisper, and after that, everything was infernal heat and red flames. He felt Parrish pulling him, so he didn’t fall, and didn’t register his legs walking away in sync with Parrish’s back to the Palace, in what remained of the bridge.

*

Stiles saw the desperation and fear in Stuart’s eyes when his hand slipped, and he saw his silhouette against the night sky becoming smaller before everything was engulfed in flames and the bridge shattered. He felt numb from the heat and noise, and felt suspended in the air for an eternity. He closed his eyes, ready for the worst.

Then Stiles felt the necklace in his pocket shining bright, reacting to something in him, and he held it to his heart with all his strength. He thought about his mother and her last advice to him. A warm light engulfed him entirely, pushing away the flames, and enveloping his whole body. When he fell to the river, his beaming white shape changed under the spell of Ewyn’s pendant. Soon the light faded, and Stiles’s unconscious body drifted to the western banks, close to the Strait in the Stilinski Spike.

But it was a different body – a girl’s. Stiles woke up some minute later looking up at the smoke in the sky, and hearing the screams of children and adults alike running to the harbor to flee to Pentos and escape the devastated city, in whatever ship would take them or they could force themselves into. Stiles felt dizzy, and remembered nothing about herself, only that Belerion had set fire to the city, Sylune. Her city.

The pendant was now hanging from her neck. A woman carrying a baby in her hands came across her, running.

“Run, girl! The dragon is burning the lower district!”, she screamed at Stiles, not even stopping, and then disappeared into the crowd.

Stiles stayed where she was, frozen, with her wet clothes stuck to her skin. She looked up to see Belerion in the distance, scorching down more houses and hordes of people still coming south to the harbor. She closed her eyes and let out a deep breath.

Stiles didn’t know why, but she felt like she had nothing left other than her life. She opened her eyes, turned and ran, not looking back at Belerion.

*

After John saw the bridge collapse, his men scattered. He saw the flames engulfing Parrish, Stuart and Stiles in the middle of the bridge, and could do nothing else than contemplate with sheer horror. Time went by as the fire stopped, and part of the bridge was gone. But he didn’t even notice Belerion had left. He felt a hand in his shoulder from behind.

“John”, the voice said, worried, “Look at me.”

He turned, numb, and Melissa shook him into reason. “I know how hard this is for you. Our worst fears have come true. But we have to go. Claudia made me promise”, she said, calmly, staring in his eyes and squeezing his shoulder.

The King nodded, still taking in the betrayal from Stuart. The death of Stiles. The destruction of the city. The burning of the Palace…

“There’s no time!”, a voice said from behind Melissa. It was Scott. He was motioning with his hand for them to follow.

The adults looked at each other and nodded. “Okay”, John said, taking a deep breath. The three of them left the Inner District and headed for the Stilinski Spike, amidst the chaos.

*

Atop one of the high places in the Palace, Gerard and Kate Argent stood, armored with their Scaled olive metal and with their cloaks against the wind. They were in the middle of the fires in the whole city, which spread in almost every direction, under the shroud of the night. Kate was holding the Red Orb tight, looking satisfied at the horizon.

Victoria was with them, in a red dress, staring mesmerized at the visions of Belerion within the orb.

“Sylune needs a new hero again”, Gerard said, smugly.

Kate smirked, not moving her head. “Or heroine.”

*

Allyson and Isaac were running in the Palace like demons followed them. They had been the whole day, with Sir Christopher. They came across him in a corridor, shortly after Belerion burned down the Throne Room. Chris had been witness to the events.

“The Queen is dead! The Prince was there, I saw it with my own eyes!”, he screamed at her daughter, scared.

Allyson gaped, in shock. She looked at Isaac, who was staring at her with eyes full of fear. “I can’t believe it…”, she said, whispering.

“We need to go, now! We don’t know what Belerion will do next!”, Chris yelled, impatient.

Isaac nodded, swallowing; and the knight pushed both Isaac and Allyson forward by their shoulders to get them walking.

*

John, Scott and Melissa were headed to the harbor. They crossed the lower districts in the middle of the turmoil. Men and women of all ages were running with them, trying to escape the hell that surrounded them, with burning buildings, risky stampedes and debris scattered all over the streets. Soon they saw the sea at the end of the road they were crossing.

Before they could reach the beach, however, John faltered. He had been wounded before, and he only realized it now that he had been bleeding from his thigh. They took off his leg armor. Some small piece of debris had probably hit him when the Palace’s bridge had collapsed, or perhaps Belerion’s attacks had sent something his way.

A nearby girl joined them when she saw a man was lying on the ground, his teeth gritted in pain, and Melissa stepped aside to let her see. She wore a beautiful six-pointed star pendant in her neck, and much like her clothes, was dirty and filled with soot.

“Are you a Holy Priestess?”, Melissa asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Hmm… I guess”, the girl said, looking confused. “I woke up after an explosion and I don’t remember anything. I’m lost.”

She pressed her hands to John’s thighs and casted a healing spell that lit a faint white light around the area. John stopped bleeding and the tissue began healing. His pain also seemed to be going away, if the relaxation in his face was any indication.

“You’re very good!”, Scott said, smiling “What’s your name?”

“Ewyn”, the girl said, firmly, looking at Scott. Her face was specked with ashes, but her eyes were a whiskey shade of brown. Her hair was also brown, and not very long. She had a cute up-turned nose and Scott saw a hint of her cheekbones when she was concentrated on her spell. An explosion distracted him in the distance, and the screams of people hurrying to the Strait became louder.  

“Thank you, Ewyn”, John said, in a rough voice, getting up with the help of her and Melissa.

“Come with us”, Scott urged, looking at Ewyn and back at the city, expectant, “there’s little time!”

Ewyn nodded and complied, and they helped John to the docks. The four of them arrived at a ship inconspicuously dropped anchor away from the main section, and thus away from the multitudes of Sylunites that tried to escape the hell that night had brought with the dark.

Deaton was waiting for them in the platform, looking worried at the sky, where the stars were shrouded by the smoke. “Come on, we need to go”, he said, motioning for them to get inside the ship.

They helped John get in the ship, which was quite big, and after the three of them had also climbed in, Deaton looked at Ewyn.

“Who’s your new friend, Scott?”, he inquired, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m Ewyn”, the girl said, looking at him. “Why are all of you familiar to me?”, she said, confused.

“Do you know who this is”, Deaton said, smiling, pointing at John.

“The King”, Melissa stated, before Ewyn could reply, looking at her and raising her eyebrows.

“Former King,” John corrected, sighing, “If we survive the night.”

“We will”, Deaton assured him, “We’re leaving for Pentos right now”, he said, raising his voice as he turned to get to the prow, and he commanded one of his men to lift the anchor. “We’ll arrive at first light!”, he screamed, already far.

Scott nodded, and then Melissa had the three of them follow her. After some time, they were settled in one of the cabins, a small wooden room with four beds in two berths. They were sitting on the floor, their backs against the bed, looking at the moon through the window. Melissa let out a deep breath as the screams from Sylune became a faint background noise.

Ewyn had fallen asleep against Scott’s shoulder, who was asleep too, still sitting on the ground against their berth. John had also drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep, lying on the ground besides her. It was probably because of the spell’s soothing properties, helped by the regular sway of the ship. But even though Melissa was exhausted, she was still agitated, her hands shaking a bit now that she was alone and could focus on herself. She put them on her head. It would be a long night for Melissa.

*

Parrish was riding his horse, Firemane, with Stuart holding to his waist, in a dark cloak, staring sideways at the nothingness. They were in the south-eastern part of Sylune, close to the Walls and the Saur Gates between the Argent and Whittemore spikes. Belerion was in the other side of the city, past Clearwaters, and this part of Sylune was deserted. The Argent spike had remained unscathed from Belerion’s wrath.

The north-eastern gates, or the main gates, were very affluent and heavily guarded, being the main route for the Riverlands and the Meadows, and being the place where the Path of Ashes led into Sylune. The Saur gates, however, were much less transited, and mostly by Saurs, thence the name. They had roads that met with others from other parts of Sylune close to the Bay, and led mostly to Rocky Shore’s coastal towns. The Argents arrived in Sylune there some times. Tonight, though, it was all deserted, even the guards had left their posts. Sir Parrish knew them well, and crossed the open gates without a soul to see them. The horse, carrying them, soon got lost in the night. It rode long and fast and stopped on the first town by the coast of the bay when the first lights had already arrived.  

It was a little fisher town, and Parrish used some of the silver he had to pay for breakfast within an inn that morning. Stuart ate absently, and afterwards he went outside. The day was a bit cloudy, but already warm. He walked toward a tree, and stopped before it. Stuart let all his pent-up emotions and frustration surface, and he punched the tree so hard his knuckles started bleeding, but he only dug his fist deeper within the torn bark. After a while, his arm went limp, and he felt to his knees, crying.

Stuart hadn’t cleaned yet, his face filled with soot; and he was wearing a blackened common shirt and shorts with worn-out shoes. They were ragged and almost burned in some areas; he looked like a commoner. A little girl approached him, and put her hand in his shoulder.

“Are you from Sylune”, she asked, curiously.

He looked at her sideways, nodding. Tears were still rolling down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry. Belerion has become evil”, she said, pulling a face.

Stuart swallowed and dragged his sleeve to clean his tears, sullying his face a bit more in the process.

“I’ll slay Belerion”, he said, squeezing the girl’s shoulder, “I swear it on my blood.”

The girl gaped and ran away, scared.

Parrish had been feeding the horses, and came back just now, hearing his promise. He knelt by Stuart’s side, and tried to help him up. Stuart got up, but rejected his help.

“I will”, Stuart said, determined.

Parrish bit his lip. “Who’s to blame?”

“The Argents”, Stuart spat out. “And they framed me. They killed my mother. My brother. They turned Belerion against his own family!”, he screamed, riled up.

“I promised your father I’d take care of you” Parrish said, solemnly, looking at the ground.

“I don’t need to be taken care of”, Stuart said, looking angrily at Parrish, who met his gaze. “I’m going to the only place where I can”, he continued, turning and looking at the horizon, clenching his fist. 

“Where?”, Parrish asked, looking back at Sylune’s shape in the distance, still surrounded by smoke.

“Dragon’s End”, he said, putting his fist in his heart, Lydia’s bracelet the only thing he had saved from his past life as the Crown Prince.

Parrish gaped.

“I will master Death”, Stuart said, emphatically, “and I will take revenge against the Argents”, he concluded.

“Stuart…”, Parrish said, hesitant, looking at him wide-eyed.

“You don’t need to follow me”, he said, “but you deceive yourself if you still think I was wrong about the Light.”

Parrish didn’t know what to say. “But Stuart… the Siblings of Nyx…”

“Where was the Light yesterday?!”, Stuart said. “Tell me!”, he continued, walking towards Parrish, who took a step back in shock. “Tell me where the Light was hiding when Stiles slipped away from me! When Belerion burned my Mother! And your family’s probably dead, too!”, he screamed, hitting Parrish’s chest plate as he moved his hand.

Parrish looked away, and Stuart’s breathing was ragged, his nostrils flaring in anger. He spat on the soil.

“I’ll make things right, for my brother and our family”, he said, turning to leave back to the inn, “you can crawl back to Sylune if you want”, he said, scornful, walking away.

Parrish seemed to go through the conflict in his mind, and reached a decision. “Stuart, stop!”, he screamed. “I’ll go with you!”

Stuart stopped and looked back, nodding at him. “Good. Because I want to keep you, Parrish”, he said, and then his expression became dark, “and when I take the Argents down, anyone who sides with them will die”

*

Over the course of the day, the news arrived all around Sylune that the mighty warrior Kate Argent had managed to stop Belerion, putting an end to his devastation on the night of the 24th of June. A tragedy that would become part of the history of the Holy Kingdom; one that hadn’t had a precedent in a thousand years, since Nessaria, and from a descendant of hers.

 

**Grizzly Hills, June 1013 AN**

In the northern coasts of Grizzly Hills, from one of the most important harbors in the North, a cargo ship left the dock to sail to Pentos at dawn, with Derek and Laura Hale within a cabin. They had paid the captain enough gold to make no questions about their intentions or identities. They were lying on two beds, placed in opposite places of the cabin.

Both were staring absently at the ceiling, still taking in the fact that they were leaving the Eastern Kingdoms for good. They would leave Belerion and Sylune behind. Their whole family was dead, their home was destroyed, and nothing was left for the two of them in the North.

“We’ll begin anew”, Laura said, coldly, noticing his rising heartbeat. “Try to sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day in Pentos.”

Derek nodded and swallowed, calming himself, but images of the smoldering ruins of Winterfell stayed with him through his labored sleep.

Laura didn’t manage to fall asleep at all, her eyes wide open, flashing red.


	3. Years of Exile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many people believed dead are actually still alive, starting anew in far away places, but few know. The Holy Kingdom is once again in the clutches of the Scaled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who keeps reading :3 This chapter is narrated over a long time in the story, almost 5 years. Comments are always welcome!

**Pentos, August 1013 AN**

Under the scorching midday sun of august, and without a single cloud in the sky, a long slave ship made its way through the waves in the South Sea. Its voyage was close to the southern coastline of the Western Lands, headed for Pentos. Inland, only the central part of the Searing Desert extended with its golden dunes, violent sand storms and its only frequent inhabitants, deadly scorpions. The Searing Desert occupied most of the known part of Occident, and was almost impossible to cross by land. It held the ruins of ancient civilizations, buried in its sands in the most remote corners of the continent.

Only the closest parts to the eastern end of the continent, where the city-state of Pentos stood proud and prosper, had been explored by the Oriental and Pentosi archaeologists who dared venture into the desert. That part, known as the oasis of Pentos, held an archipelago of oases scattered all around in the otherwise inhospitable expanse of dunes and carcasses. And close to the tip stood Pentos, where a homonymous river that gave name to the city flowed into its Bay and the Strait. Pentos often traded with the Holy Kingdom, and had done so for thousands of years, favoring their mutual economical and cultural growth.

Pentos served as a nexus between the greedy and civilized East and the mysterious and exotic West, about which the Sylunites knew next to nothing, other than the presence of the ancient city of Yith. Yith also frequently traded with Pentos; all kinds of items, the most common and the rarest. And, much like Pentos, Yith was a slaver city which sometimes sold whole ships of slaves from the Summer Islands, far below the Yithi coast in the South Sea. Slavery had been outlawed in the Holy Kingdom for numerous millennia, but beyond the Strait men didn’t follow the Light.

Boyd didn’t remember how he had gotten in the ship, but he was chained in a large room in the husk, with little slits for windows, and surrounded by people. He didn’t know anything about them, other than that they had probably suffered the same fate as his home village in the Summer Islands; a Yithi raid. He felt his mouth dry as he breathed shallowly, disoriented and very sensitive to the little light that filtered in through the slits. Most of the other slaves were asleep, or maybe worse.

The most rebellious ones were physically reprimanded, and some of them were unconscious, bleeding on the floor. He hadn’t protested about his fate, and only after he’d been taken he understood the scary tales his grandparents had told the village kids about the Yithi when he was of young age. He had never understood why they would take people from their homes, slay some and cripple others, only to send them far away for pieces of metal. What could they do with those pieces of metal that they were capable of doing such atrocities for acquiring them?

Boyd fell asleep soon, resting his head against his hand on the floor. He only woke up when a loud noise resonated through the husk, meaning they had dropped anchor. He swallowed forcefully upon realizing they had arrived to their destination.

“Rise!”, one of the masters screamed, spitting, looking at no one in particular. He was holding a turquoise winged scepter that they had called the Rods of Dominance. They had been instructed to never question what a man holding them told them to do and to obey at all times. And if they hesitated or disobeyed, they would be crucified or thrown into the sea.

The enslaved companions followed the master mindlessly with whatever little strength they had left as they walked through the docks into what seemed to be a market square. Children, women and men alike, of all skin colors and height, also wore the bronze collars. Boyd had thought that only the dark-skinned were enslaved, since their Yithi captors were of a predominantly bronze-skinned ethnicity. But he was proven wrong. He stared wide-eyed at a slave that was being whipped for misbehaving, and cringed upon seeing the red blood falling down his back, also reddened by the marks the black leather whip left behind. He jerked his head away, unable to face it. Was the life that expected him worth living?

*

Kira, a slave-servant in Deaton’s mansion, didn’t wear any collar. She left a tray with food and drinks in the table where Deaton, John, Melissa, Scott and Ewyn were having lunch. Deaton nodded and she smiled, turning to leave down the stairs. They were in a high part of the mansion, in the second floor. There was a balcony that overlooked the bay and, in the other end of the room, a white marble rail and a staircase down to the entrance hall. Their table was in between.

Scott looked at the girl as she disappeared below the line of the floor. Ewyn was absently staring at the bay. There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky, and the summer had brought a very hot day, so everything was wide open to let the breeze from the sea go through mansion and cool it off.

When Ewyn and Scott were done eating, they left. Deaton stayed with the two adults, and when they finished their plates they calmly digested their food with generous cups of Pentosi honeyed wine. Melissa closed her eyes and let the breeze go through her hair, tilting her head when a particular strong wind came in, bringing with it the salty smell of the sea.

“Thanks for the meal, Deaton”, she said, smiling and opening her eyes.

Deaton laughed fondly. “You don’t have to thank me every time”, he said, “now that you’re all living here it will get tiresome.”

“I’m never tired of being thankful”, she said, widening her eyes as she took a sip of her drink.

John smiled as well, doing the same.

“News have arrived from the Holy Kingdom”, Deaton said, letting down his drink and looking a bit sadder.

John nodded. “Gerard rules in Sylune, is that right?”

“Yes”, Deaton said. “It was to be expected, after his daughter saved the city from Belerion.”

John closed his eyes upon hearing the dragon’s name, one that was like family to Claudia. Since their early childhood, when they’d first met in the court of Sylune, he’d vowed to protect the Holy Princess, to be by her side and cherish her every day of his life. And he’d failed. Her legacy, her children, everything – it was gone too, along with her Light in the Kingdom. The Stilinskis had consumed themselves, and they’d be lost to history. A name stained by the monster he’d sired, forcing him to live in exile. He felt a bitter taste as he let out a deep sigh.  

Melissa squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. “Hey”, she said, in a soft voice, “it’s all behind now. It doesn’t matter anymore, we have to keep looking forward.”

John rubbed his eyes and then opened them, looking at her. “Yeah”, he said, “you’re right. We need to do it if only for Scott and Ewyn.”

Melissa nodded, smiling weakly. Sometimes taking care of someone else was the best way to give oneself strength to go on – she knew well, having raised Scott by herself. She’d never told his son about his father, not yet, even if he was insistent at times.

“Deaton”, John said, looking at him now, “I’ve been thinking about joining your personal guard here in Pentos…”, he explained, interlacing his fingers as he placed his hands on the table. “I’ve been a knight all my life, it’s what I do best.”

Deaton smiled widely. “I was hoping you’d ask, actually. Would you also consider coming with me in my travels? I’m always discreet”, he replied, reassuringly.

“Of course”, John said, standing up, offering his hand. “You’ve been only kind to us. We have ourselves a deal?”, he said with a smile.

Deaton stood, too, his face bright and shook his hand. Melissa smiled to herself, a weight lifted from her chest. She felt that Claudia would want the best for his husband, and as her best friend, she would make everything in her power to help him go on.

*

Scott and Ewyn were walking together right out of the mansion. They left the big iron gates behind, which were closed again by some guards, as they stepped into the stony streets of the purple city. Pentos had such a nickname because of the roof color choices in the richest neighborhoods, such as the one they were in, one of famous and prosper merchants.

The both of them kept walking side by side, coming across few people in the full heat of the afternoon. When they reached the square, it was filled with a multitude of diverse folks, although many less than during the morning hours. Lots of vendors and craftsmen offered their goods in temporary tents, and spices from the West were sold in others. People of every culture came and went in the frenetic pace of the market. Pentos was a crossroads between the two worlds they knew, East and West, and it harbored a tolerant and multicultural atmosphere. Magic was freely practiced in the city, with only a general ban for black magic and blood magic. These two darker arts were restricted to the more secretive corners only. Astral magic works in Old Dynic and Old Pentosi were the most common, and the city’s biggest libraries were full with them. Indeed Scott was looking at the façade of one of the oldest, the Great Astral Library of Pentos, admiring the details carved in the marble of war scenes and heroes of times past mostly unknown to him. Pentos was old beyond his imagination.

“Melissa told me John would finally ask Deaton for a job”, Ewyn spat out, looking around at the many colors of spices in a post, curious. “Is it true?”, she said, looking at Scott, who jerked his head suddenly, his attention back to his companion.

Scott smiled. “Yeah”, he said, and then spoke with a hint of sadness, “He can’t return to Sylune…”

Ewyn grimaced. “I feel bad for him… being Prince Stuart’s father must be a difficult cross to bear, considering how things went down...”

Scott nodded. “So he may as well make himself useful here”, he said, attempting to bring back his usual cheeriness.

Ewyn nodded as they arrived at the blacksmith. They had come to take some horseshoes for Deaton. Scott had gotten used pretty well to living with Deaton, and now he was also his pupil. Deaton taught him what he knew of animal care and surgery. Scott loved being with the horses and animals in general, and could use Deaton’s skills from dealing with people and animals’ health alike. The similarities were unnerving, he thought.

While they were waiting, Ewyn tapped her feet against the floor, impatient. They were sitting by the wall. Scott kept staring at Ewyn.

“What is it?”, she said, when she realized she was being observed.

Scott shied away from her gaze. “Nothing… you… you just remind me so much of my friend”, he said with a blush, “your eyes.”

“Who?”, she asked, curiously raising an eyebrow, her eyes sparking.

“Nevermind”, Scott said, and his face fell. He wasn’t ready to remember Sylune. He wondered if he would ever be.

“Oh”, she said, realizing his pain and what had probably caused it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s okay”, Scott hurried to say, reassuring, smiling weakly.

Ewyn sighed. “I wish I remembered something… sometimes I think I never will.”

Scott patted her shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. Even if you don’t, we’re family now, right?”

Ewyn returned his smile, placing her own hand in his shoulder too. They’d hit it off really quickly.

A man’s scream let them know the horseshoes were ready, and both of them got up quickly, looking like startled rabbits. Ewyn let out an honest, contagious laugh, and Scott soon joined her.

*

Outside the walls of Pentos, the Searing Desert was scattered with lush oases. Some of them clustered close to the city, and many farmers and shepherds lived there, but it was a dangerous location. All along the known northern coast of the continent, the Red Mountains shielded the land from the colder Dark Sea, standing tall and insurmountable. Within them, a stream existed that was the source of river Pentos.

The Red mountains had caves that the Searing peoples, who called themselves the Sehari in their desert speech, used to hide. They were nomadic desert travelers that ventured where no other people did, and they usually raided the oases and terrorized the Pentosi outside the walls. Their presence and the perennial conflict with the Purple City was the reason the walls were erected in the first place. The outer wall was the Silver Wall, and had only fallen to a raid once; the Pentosi had used a slave army to defend their city and it hadn’t fallen since in hundreds of years. The inner wall was Golden Wall, and had never fallen in recorded history. It stood taller than the first one, and its tallest part stood visible from the desert over the silvery shine of the outer wall.

As for the surrounding oases – it was strange if a couple of months went by without a raid from the barbarians. Sometimes the peoples gave the Sehari tribes tribute never to return, but they always did. This is why mercenaries from all over the world were paid to defend the sands surrounding Pentos. Should the regions ever become unpopulated; the Sehari would be a menace to the city itself. What’s more, the economy would suffer profoundly, a lot of Pentosi export coming from the region. This is why, sometimes, mercenary parties were sent in missions to investigate the Sehari hideouts in the Red Mountains, and to preemptively attack them before they raided.

This is also how Laura and Derek Hale found themselves in one of such parties. Syns were famed for their ferocity and combat skills, and they had been paid a good price for a monthly mission into the Red Mountains. They were standing under a coconut tree in the shores of a pond within an oasis, not far from the Silver Wall. It shimmered eerily, reflecting the crescent moon and lighting up the mysterious desert night. Derek was taking off his leather gloves, from a hard day of work with the animals. He got closer to the water and washed his face with the crystal clear liquid, refreshing himself in the process. He then shook his head to dry himself.

Laura giggled. “You look like a dog.”

Derek gave her the stink eye. “Really, Laura? Got nothing better?”

She stuck her tongue out. He grinned, standing up. He hurled himself at her and they ended up rolling in the dirt, fighting and laughing, letting all the stress of the day out.

“How are you feeling about tomorrow?”, Laura asked, when they were already lying side by side in the ground, panting heavily and chests heaving, looking up at the stars.

“Good”, he said, letting out a deep breath. He was smiling. “At least I feel excited about something. It’s frustrating all these peoples have to get assaulted by thieves every other month.”

“Right?”, she said, looking at him, raising her eyebrows “I wish I could protect every oasis, but there are so many. Fucking desert cunts.”

Derek let out a chuckle.

“We’ll show them why Syns have their reputation tomorrow”, she sentenced, standing up. “We should sleep… we leave at dawn.”

“Right”, Derek said, getting up as well. “We should.”

They slept together in a hammock between two trees, Derek holding to Laura’s waist. She was all he had left. Laura felt his steady heartbeat and drifted to a deep sleep unlike any she had had in a long time. By the morning, they felt rested and ready to face again the unforgiving world they lived in.

 

**Dragon’s End, August 1013 AN**

Stuart and Parrish traveled over one month around the little towns of the Valley, disguised as peasants. They tried to gather as much information as they could about the situation in Sylune before heading to Dragon’s End. They spent most of their time in the Meadows, but stayed away from big cities like Viridia. The only things they had kept with them were Parrish’s armor and Firemane. Stuart was more often than not cloaked, lest anybody identified him as the Prince.

By the end of July they were already in the shire of Dawn Fields, close to the mountain range that marked the end of the Valley. The last town before the Twilight Forest was Dawn Gallows. Said forest was said to be haunted and extended before the slope of one of the biggest mountains in the ridge, Raszira’s Rest. Raszira was one of the first Saltharien dragons, and she had perished during the Purge of the Valley fighting the primordial Syn necromancers. It was rumored some of her bones were still scattered over the mountains. The edgy rock formations in the region had been the bane of many other dragons as well.

Stuart and Parrish spent the night in an inn in Dawn Gallows. Inside their room, Stuart was sitting at a table, and looked through the window at the forest in the distance. He could only see the trees as a dark blur; and above them, the silhouette of the mountains and the night sky with a crescent moon hanging above. Parrish sat with him, and shadows danced in the walls of the room as he stared at the oil lamp they had set on the table.

“I need to ask you one last time”, Parrish said. “And I want you to be honest. You’ll have me no matter what you decide.”

Stuart raised an eyebrow.

“Do you really want to join the Nyctians?”, Parrish said, sighing, placing both fists in the table.

Stuart was looking at the distance, but then moved his head to fix his gaze on Parrish. “Yes”, he deadpanned. “I will do whatever it takes.”

“They have some sort of ritual, don’t they?”, Parrish asked.

“I read some of it with Lydia, back in Sylune”, Stuart said, emotionless. “It’s not an easy task, if you’re wondering. Sometimes it’s life-threatening.”

Parrish nodded, silently. “That won’t deter me. I swore…”

“Parrish!”, Stuart spat out, “Are you helping me because of an oath to my father?”, he said, with anger in his eyes.

“That’s not what I meant!”, Parrish said, taken aback.

“Listen to me”, Stuart said, scooting closer. “This is who I am, and this is who I’ll always be. If you have to convince yourself you’re helping the monster they all say I am because you made a promise to a dead man, you better step back”, he said emphatically.

“There’s no place in Dragon’s End for the hesitant”, he concluded, before Parrish could respond.

Parrish took his hand. “I’ve known you since we were young, just like I knew your father”, he said, with emotion in his voice. “You’re not a monster!”

Stuart moved his hand away, and stood up, looking coldly at Parrish. “I’ll become one if that’s what it takes. Make your decision before dawn.”

After that, Stuart took off his shoes and shirt and slipped inside his bed. Parrish kept looking through the window, thinking about the future, about his dead brother and the fate of Sylune. He blew out the oil lamp, sending the room into darkness.

Parrish went to bed shortly after, in only his shorts, but he didn’t sleep until much later. His eyes were wide open. He pondered what siding with Death meant for him and the Holy Kingdom he had sworn to defend. Stuart’s mother’s Kingdom had already been cast into a deep darkness, even if the aristocrats were unaware.

*

Early in the morning, before the sun rose, Stuart was up and accompanying Firemane outside the inn. The horse was drinking from a stone trough with crystalline water, and Stuart was staring at his own reflection, pensive. He then looked up at the sky, above the shape of Dragon’s End, already lighting up. The mantle of the night was being lifted from the Valley.

He realized a map would come in handy to cross the forest, so he went back to the inn after he was finished. He wanted the innkeeper, and he found Parrish already having breakfast in one of the tables in the main dining room. Turning himself back to the counter, he saw a fat old man close to the kitchen door, preparing some food for other clients, chopping vegetables and seasoning cooked meat with the regional Twilight spices.

Stuart briefly looked at Parrish and then walked closer to the man. When they made eye contact, he spoke.

“Do you have a map of the forest?”, he asked.

The man kept staring at him, confused. “I do. But why would you want that? There are no towns on the other end…”

Stuart sighed. “I’m going to Raszira’s rest.”

The man gaped. “Why? I must warn you, young man, it’s dangerous! You may find the night folk… and you don’t know what they’ll do to you!”, he said, quickly, apprehensive and a bit upset.

Stuart bit his lower lip, exasperated. “Just give me the damned map, okay? I’ll pay well.”

The man huffed, but went to look for it anyway. Stuart reclined himself against the counter, tapping his fingers against the dark wood. When the man returned, he gave Stuart the map, and he payed with a few silver coins, well over its worth.

“You may as well give me all the money you have”, the man said, absently, “for all we know, you’ll find death tomorrow.”

Stuart laughed shamelessly. “Maybe Death is what I’m looking for, old man”, he said, staring at him, “After all, one can’t hide from it forever. Death always takes its toll.”

The man stared in horror as Stuart turned around and walked away, making a beeline for the door.

*

Parrish went out after Stuart, who was stretching and yawning, inspecting the map by a picnic table with some benches around.

“I’ve made up my mind”, he announced, stopping before him. Stuart had his back to him, and he turned his head to look at him, raising an eyebrow but smiling. Parrish was in his travel clothes and he was carrying a sack with his belongings. He dropped it to the ground.

“I’ve always been with you. And I will until the very end. Because you’re my friend.”

Stuart’s face lit up, and he turned around completely. They both stood there awkwardly, until he let out a chuckle in relief and closed the distance to pull Parrish into a tight hug. Parrish sighed in his arms, corresponding him and rubbing his hand over Stuart’s back.

“You’re one of the few people I truly care about”, Stuart confessed, softly, baring his soul. He felt the crushing pressure in his chest lift for the first time in weeks, since they had fled home.

Parrish managed to hold back his tears. “I’m one of the few people you allowed close. Thanks for that.”

They stayed like that for a short time, in silence, and finally moved away. Stuart cleared his throat. “We’re taking Firemane”, Parrish announced, smiling.

Shortly after, as the soon rose behind the mountains, they set off for the shady Twilight Forest.

*

Their journey through the woods was long and exhausting, but mostly uneventful. It’s true they were eerie, having so much history to them, but what could a few hung men that had taken their own lives do to stop them? The real danger lurked well after the forest, hidden within the mountains. They had done well crossing them during the day, because at nighttime, even with the map, it would have been easy to get lost.

They arrived at the other end in the afternoon, where they crossed a small creek and settled on the other end to stop for a quick lunch. They dipped their bare feet in the water as they ate bread and fresh fruit from the inn, before they turned bad. Stuart was staring at the water.

“Parrish”, he said, slowly.

“Yes?”, Parrish replied, looking at him.

“What do you know exactly about Nyctian initiation rites?”, he said, still looking at the river.

“Not much”, Parrish admitted.

“I thought so”, he said, sighing. “I meant it when I said they were life-threatening.” He looked at Parrish with a worried look.

Parrish nodded. “That I knew.”

Stuart bit his lip. “They will test your physical might and mental endurance. It would turn most people crazy, or kill them… to do what it takes to be a part of their cult.”

“I heard they also have pyromancers”, Parrish ventured, curious.

“I imagined you’d pursue that rather than the dark arts”, Stuart explained, smirking. “Yes, they do”, he admitted, “but unlike those in the Marshes, these loathe dragons.”

Parrish scoffed. “Makes sense. I don’t like dragons that much myself.”

Stuart nodded again, troubled. He clenched his fist, and Parrish guessed he was probably thinking of Belerion.

“What’s on your mind?”, Parrish asked, trying to be soothing.

“I’ll be a dragonslayer”, Stuart said, full of resolve, but with an expression of longing rather than anger. “For my family.”

*

Stuart and Parrish followed the old paths in the mountainside of Raszira’s Rest. They were seldom walked by strangers, but they were accessible and straight-forward enough. The Nyctians weren’t hard to find, apparently; but usually no Vallese sought them. Deep within the mountain range, in the other side of the mountain, they saw a man-made construction in the distance, possibly a temple. The paths all around them flowed into one big dusty road, whiter than the ochre rocks around them.

They saw the first signs of civilization shortly afterwards. There was a big onyx arch on the end of the road, and inside there was a small extent of land before the alleged temple. Stuart could only identify the building from his studies as the Temple of Bones. There was a big dragon skull on top of the arch, they realized as it drew nearer. When they arrived, a single person was standing there, in a black cloak, and they went straight towards Stuart. Parrish stood by his side, with his sword sheathed. Neither of them were armored nor concealing their faces.

The figure stopped before the former Prince.

“May Death take its toll”, a rough voice announced methodically. “What is it you want from Nyx, stranger?”, the probable man said.

“I’m Prince Stuart Stilinski”, he confessed, proudly, and the man took a step back. “I come to see the Dark Sister.”

The man nodded, uneasy, and quickly left, leaving them staring at the temple in the distance. The last hours of sunlight were passing, and within the range the sky had an orange hue because of the dust lifted from the barren terrain. Everything was immersed in a general silence only broken by the cawing of the crows and the croaking of the ravens.

Two more figure arrived in the same black cloaks, which, upon closer inspection, also had violet linings as decoration. They motioned for the newcomers to follow. They did, crossing the arch. The temple they were headed to was also built from black rock, and it was several floors high. Dark blue columns stood after the grand stairs that led to the main doors, which were open, but they couldn’t see the inside from the grounds below yet, only the tall cavernous ceiling.

At the sides of the temple there were more Nyctian grounds were the acolytes of the cult were lurking, whispering in hushed tones, practicing their spells or simply spending their time. It was said in Sylune that Nyctian spies hid in every corner of the Kingdom. Behind, a whole lot of other structures of Nyctian architecture stood, making a true complex network of terraces, towers, temples and probably the places where they lived. All was built from the same dark stone, sometimes the buildings giving into caves in the mountains.

Stuart and Parrish started walking up the black steps, looking at the walls at the sides that were as high as the temple door. They were inscribed with incantations in Old Dynic and there were even runes in the Old Tongue of the North, as well as carvings of ritual sacrifices that the Vallese feared. When Stuart stepped on the last step, he eyed the sphinges at the sides of the stairs. They were also sculpted out of onyx, with diamonds for eyes and ominous wings against the decadent, orange sky. He continued towards the titanic doors, and found an old crone with a dark blue hood and the same black robe as the others walking towards him. They met at the very threshold, when he could already see the inside. It looked like a ceremonial room, with an altar on the far end.

“Do not cross the threshold yet, stranger”, the woman said, in a voice much younger than her appearance seemed to give away.

Stuart stopped his feet, but his gaze was as determined. The woman seemed amused. She broke the silence, bringing her hands together.

“Are you who you claim to be?”, she asked, her voice skeptical.

“Yes”, Stuart said, promptly, “I am Stuart of house Stilinski, son of Queen Claudia, the rightful heir to the Holy Kingdom”, he continued saying, with pride in his tone.

She smiled. “And is it true what the Argents say about you?”, she replied, raising her voice.

Stuart gritted his teeth. “No. I did not command Belerion to destroy my own family.”

The woman, who could only be the Dark Sister, kept smiling. The Dark Sister was the oldest Sibling of Nyx in Dragon’s End, who acted as a leader and savior for the followers of Death. She seemed to ponder his words and, for some reason, believe him.

“It is better for you if what you say is true”, she said, calmly, “because the Nyctians and dragons don’t mingle.”

“I will defeat that dragon myself”, he offered, furious, bringing his hand to his chest and exposing his silver bracelet.

She caught a glimpse of it and her amused expression fell. “Who gave you that?”, she said.

“A friend”, he replied, serious.

She laughed. “Nevermind. How rude of me not to introduce myself. I have no name, because we give it away when we take our vows. I’m the Dark Sister, and I’m the leader of the Nyctians.”

“I thought so”, he said, nodding, unfurrowing his brow.

“Is it true”, she continued her interrogation, “that the Dark Prince likes to play with the forbidden arts in the Holy City? Those rumors were… interesting to hear. Especially for the then-future Father of the Realm.”

Parrish cleared his throat. The crone looked at him, then back at Stuart. Stuart’s nostrils were flaring, but he clenched his fist and managed to calm himself down.

“Necromancy is no game for me”, he said, “Sister”, punctuating the word. “I will do whatever it takes to get my revenge against the Argents, and take back what is mine. I will do whatever you ask me to do to join the Nyctians”, he admitted, finally.

She gave him another smile, but this time her eyes lit up too.

“We’ll see what you’re made of”, she added, disdainful, turning and giving his back to him. “Cross the threshold at your own risk, and the same for your friend. There is no coming back from Death.”

“I’ve been well pushed over the edge already”, Stuart spat out, taking the step forward without hesitation. Parrish ensued.

 

**Sylune, September 1013 AN**

Gerard Argent walked up the steps in the higher part of the main square of Sylune, in the Lower District. It was, of course, close to the Inner District, where the monarchs made announcements to the general population. The flags of the great noble houses barely wavered in the air around the square, being all at half-mast in mourning. His olive and golden Saur armor clashed against the silence of everyone gathered around, the survivors of Sylune. The altar of the Light that was in the middle part had been shattered and still the way it had been left during the fateful night of the Day of Fire.

He stepped in between his son and daughter, and stepped on the pieces of the altar, coughing dryly before beginning his speech. He looked at the horizon, with a sorrowful expression.

“People of Sylune”, he screamed, getting everyone’s easy attention. The looks in the faces of the small peoples were those of despair, sadness and heartbreak, and they were looking for anything to cling to after the tragedy. “I know we have all lost things beyond repair. Our families, our friends, our homes… entire families”, he said, as some people within the crowd started crying, and some children pressed closer to the adults around them.

“This is the undeniable truth. But we’re also alive!”, he said, raising his arm.

“Every one of us is a survivor!”, he continued, pressing his fist to his heart.

“We didn’t survive Belerion!”, he said, certain, “We survived the Darkness. Queen Claudia Stilinski, the most pious, our Mother, is gone. She couldn’t have protected us from what came, because this time Death struck from within!”, he continued, raising his tone, as the crowd’s cries became louder.

“Belerion was but a tool used by Prince Stuart to destroy the Light in the Kingdom. But the Light of Sylune cannot be extinguished!”, he said, looking sideways. “My daughter, Lady Katherine Argent, fought valiantly against the Tyrant and broke the spell he had cast over the innocent dragon after she defeated him! We must thank her we’re alive today!”

The cheers of the crowd were deafening, and Kate smiled as his father took her hand and put it up in the air with his own. The peoples began chanting her name until Gerard gestured with his hand for silence, again.

Sir Christopher took a step forward in his own old Queen’s Guard armor. “Sylunites. I apologize for not being able to protect the Queen. It’s a cross I must bear forever. May the Light guard her and us all”, he said, weary, staring at his boots, and then looked up at the crowd. “But Sylune is not ended! The Dark Prince met his fate at the hands of my sister and the Royal family is dead because of him. The Council of nobles has decided on a new King in his stead”, he yelled; face serious, looking back at his father and walking towards him.

“All hail the new King Gerard Argent, first of his name, of Saur blood!”

The crowd erupted again and began chanting the name of Gerard, and that of the Argents, and Saur sayings and songs could be heard soon. Gerard kept smiling as his son and daughter put both of his hands in the air, exhibiting his shining, unscathed armor.

The folks were very easy to satisfy at this point, because the Crown offered their help to placate the upcoming famine and most of the repair costs for the city, taking the Stilinski money that, of course, no descendant of Ewyn would ever use again. The peoples tried to resume their lives after so much loss, and so did the remaining nobles.

It proved no easy task.

*

Lydia hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in months, but on this night her dreams were especially plagued with nightmares of fire and darkness.

She woke up in the middle of the night, sweating and screaming Belerion’s name. When she realized once again where she was, and what had really happened, she began crying until Meredith called for Lady Natalie, her mother, to come to her chambers. Natalie sat by the side of her daughter, whose cries were muffled against the pillow, and gently stroked her hair as she hushed her, mumbling comforting words that Lydia couldn’t really hear.

“Have you had another nightmare?”, her mother asked in a soothing tone, trying to get Lydia to look at her.

Lydia sniffled and looked at her, hair all messed up and tears all over her cheeks and chin. She moved weakly, and with fear in her face she managed to croak out a few words.

“I’m living in one.”

*

Allyson was sitting with her mother in the Argent residence within the Scaled Spike; they hadn’t moved to the Palace yet, as it was still being reconstructed. She was staring at her full plate, not having eating a single thing in the whole day. Her cup of wine was also full, untouched.

“You need to eat something”, her mother said, pointing at her plate, with a serious and tired expression in her face.

“I don’t feel like eating anything”, Allyson replied, softly, after some time, letting down her fork.

Her mother sighed. “You’ve been like this for days”, she said. “You have to. Why don’t you look at the bright side?”, she said, raising her eyebrows.

Allyson giggled, sarcastically, sad. “Does any of this have a bright side?”

“Of course it does”, her mother said, coldly, looking at her. “You’re an Argent in Sylune and you have duties now, because you’re alive. You were predestined to be the Princess. You should be thankful you can be so on your own and not as the Queen of that demon”, she continued, raising her tone, angry.

Allyson’s face dropped. “Maybe you’re right. I’ll find solace in a chair and suddenly forget all my friends are dead? Have you given a single thought to Stiles? Claudia? John?... Scott?”, she said, on the verge of tears.

Victoria raised her eyebrow as she caught the last name, but she calmed herself, and took her hand comfortingly. She was looking at her with a softer expression. She put the cup of wine in front of her, probably so that she would at least take a sip.

“My dear. I’m not saying you should forget them. I’m saying you have to move on. Because you’re still of this world, and that matters. It matters to Sylune, and it matters to us”, she concluded.

Allyson swallowed loudly, shying away from her look and staring at the surface of her cup of wine, where a single tear broke her own reflection.

 

**Pentos, September 1013 AN**

Scott and Ewyn were sitting on the stones close to a poor house’s door, staring at the other side of the street and eating some fresh vegetables and date fruits they had just gotten from the market. They were on their way back to Deaton’s, but it was still early so they had decided to stop. Scott was telling Ewyn all about Allyson, Stiles and Isaac, his three best friends back in Sylune, and Ewyn was hearing interested, getting that odd feeling of familiarity she couldn’t place.

“Wow”, she said enthusiastically, “I guess living in a Palace must be cool.”

“It is”, Scott said, grinning widely. “I was training to be a knight, just like John”, he said.

Ewyn smiled. “I’m sure you’d make a great knight.”

Scott smiled, sadly. “I miss them so much.”

Ewyn placed a hand on his shoulder. “I know, I know…”

Scott rubbed his eyelids with his knuckles, trying not to feel too bad about it. “Allyson probably thinks I died…”

“Don’t think about that”, Ewyn said, softly. “We had no other choice that night… at least you know she’s well.”

Scott smiled sadly at that too. “Yeah… I hope she can be happy again…”

Ewyn squeezed his shoulder. Scott stared at her blankly for a few seconds before he cleared his throat.

“Anyway, I’ve been thinking about your white magic… your skills are very similar to my friend’s”, he said, “It’s… strange”

“The Prince?”, Ewyn asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes”, Scott continued, “I was thinking of something you may like.”

“What is it?”, Ewyn asked, curious, crossing her legs and resting her head on her hands, to focus. She finished the carrot she was eating.

“Well, remember when Deaton told us about the Searing peoples the other day?”, Scott said, looking for her confirmation. Ewyn nodded.

“They need white mages to attend the wounded out there, and they pay well”, he said, smiling. “I hear they also take some in missions, but that’s far too dangerous.”

Ewyn smirked. “That’s pretty interesting information. I bet they pay even more…”

Scott gaped in horror and hit her mockingly in the arm. “No! Why do I give you this sort of idea…”

“Don’t be so boring!”, she said, faking hurt, “think of it as an adventure.”

Scott laughed. “I’m done with adventures, since that time last month you dragged us into a blood magic temple. I didn’t know they existed.”

Ewyn laughed loudly. “Admit you had fun”, she said when she could.

Scott eyed her suspiciously. “There are things I’d rather not see. You’re quite a mischievous girl.”

Ewyn chuckled again. “I guess that’s what happens when your mother isn’t over you all the time”, she retaliated, squinting her eyes at Scott.

Scott sighed. “Hey, I already told you, you’re part of the family now.”

Ewyn smiled. “I know. You guys have been so good to me”, she said. “I’ll go check what’s going on in the oases tomorrow, okay? We’ll see from there.”

Scott smiled, and soon they finished eating and got up to return to Deaton’s, not taking a second longer. They ran late, as always.

*

The next morning, Ewyn went early to the limits of Pentos. The city’s westernmost streets were deserted by the hours of dawn, and she was alone when she crossed the Golden and Silver gates, giving her back to the rising sun. She was wearing a brown cloak over her common clothes to protect herself from the desert winds. When she crossed the last gates, going past the tunnel and leaving the guards behind, she stared in the horizon and was surprised to see the sands that seemed to extend in every direction, with only a few oases in sight. There was, however, a stone road that connected the verdant hotspots in the otherwise monotone and lonely landscape, also fading into the distance. She had brought enough water to walk where she wanted to go. Despite the apparent vastness of the surroundings of Pentos, it shouldn’t be far from the walls. She was headed to the mercenary camp in the northernmost oasis. She took the first step and continued from there, moving forward through the route Deaton had detailed out to her the day before.

The trip was really shorter than she had thought. Soon she saw the camp within a small oasis. It held enough little ponds of water and man-made wells to sustain the people who dwelled there in their travels and short stays. Behind the oasis, she could see the Red Mountains in the distance, tall as if from another world. She stepped on the green grass and looked for the people that seemed to be organizing the care. There had just been a monthly mission most mercenaries were just returning from. As soon as she felt the green against her shoes and took a deep breath, it was as if she’d just stepped into another dimension. She felt a completely different atmosphere, the heat turned humid.    

She talked to some men and began taking care of the heavily wounded, which took her most of the morning, as more mercenaries seemed to return with the course of the day. The amputations she left for others, and mostly took care of the internal pain of people with her soothing magic, as well as some small tasks like stitching wounds, cleaning and hydrating, as well as providing comfort and reassurance.

After lunch, with the sun high in the desert and the heat making Ewyn sweat, she went to the pond to refresh herself. She knelt on the shore, washing her face with the water. She looked into the distance and saw two last mercenaries returning. She instantly recognized them as Syns, and felt that strange familiarity again in the back of her mind, but she dismissed it.

Both looked alike, so she thought they could be brother and sister. They were wearing shorts made of leather that covered their thighs, scrapes aside. They had brown leather gloves and some worn-out shoes on as well, but barely anything else. They looked exhausted and their bodies were covered in mud, dust and dry blood. Ewyn couldn’t help but stare. Both men and women, as far as she knew, caught her attention. The woman’s fit and slender figure as she walked, advancing determined, is what she saw first. The hint of her abs and her well-shaped, firm breasts being held by a worn leather bra were hard to miss, but it was the man her gaze fixed on.

She followed him with her eyes; his well-built muscles, chest and his broad shoulders, and was mesmerized by the black stubble under his cheeks. The hard expression in his eyes, of an indeterminate greyish or green color upon closer inspection, made her gulp. He looked at her, and she shied away, blushing, but then decided to keep looking anyway. They locked their gazes and he only broke eye contact some seconds later to tell something to her sister.

Ewyn decided to place all of her head within the water and wet her hair as well, to cool down the heat rising within her body, crawling down her belly, as well as the one from the unforgiving sun.

*

Laura and Derek decided to bathe in the pond upon arriving in the northern oasis, under the sun and shades of the coconut trees. Derek saw a young girl by the other end of the pond. He glared at her, taking in her cute flushed cheeks, probably from the heat of the day. She was sweating through her white shirt. It was tight on her, defining the shape of her breasts below the thin fabric. She was kneeling before the pond, exposing part of her pale thighs. He realized she was looking at him when he looked at her lively whiskey eyes, and she looked away but then kept staring at him. He shook intrusive thoughts out of his head when he found himself staring at her mouth, and looked sideways at Laura.

“We should clean ourselves”, he said, with a rough voice.

“Yeah”, she said, tired and open-mouthed, “It’s so hot anyway.”

He nodded and they took their clothes off to dive into the pond and swim. They cleaned the blood off themselves and relaxed from the mission. Derek lowered his head into the pond, and when he got to the surface again he shook the extra water off his hair. When he next glanced at the other shore, the girl was long gone.

“You looking for someone?”, Laura said, looking at him, taking some of her wet, long hair in her hands and placing it over one of her shoulders.

“No”, Derek said, simply, getting out to dry up and dress again.

*

The evening went by uneventfully, with Derek and Laura settling in their easy, peaceful rhythm within the oasis. The Holy Mages were around all day, taking care of the rest of people and resting as well. When the night was about to fall, Derek and Laura were again lying on the grass, talking to each other. Their backs were to Pentos and the Silver Wall was shining against the red and violet sunset, where the sun sank in the ancient sands.

Laura and Derek felt footsteps behind but didn’t move, and soon they stopped. They could smell it was a human. Indeed, it was Ewyn, they had learnt, the new but extremely skilled Saur Holy Mage.

“Excuse me?”, a voice said, from behind, clearing her throat.

Laura looked up at her from where she was, arching her head, of course seeing her upside down. “Yes?”, she said, smirking.

Ewyn looked upset for some reason. “They told me to come check on you two before I left for the night”, she added simply, as if it was a chore.

“We’re fine”, Derek rasped, without even looking back at her. “You may leave.”

“Don’t you even need a check?”, Ewyn asked, not very cheerful, looking at Laura. Laura raised her eyebrow, or well, dropped it, from where Ewyn was standing.

“We’re not hurt”, Laura said, calm, “you should call it a day. I’ve heard you’ve worked a lot around here”, she offered, though more scornful than appreciative.

Ewyn seemed skeptical. “You’re telling me you don’t have a single wound?”, she said, raising an eyebrow. Her silence wasn’t met with a reply.

“You know what, I don’t even care”, she said, exhausted, “I’m done for the day”, she said, turning to leave.

“Good”, Derek said, with a rough voice, still not looking back. “We can take care of ourselves without the help of a Saur”, he deadpanned.

Ewyn stopped on her feet, but didn’t look back. “Fucking ungrateful Syns”, she mumbled to herself, angry. They heard, of course, and Derek flashed his eyes blue at the already darkening sky.

 

**Moon Desert, September 1013 AN**

Stuart had been walking alone for an entire day, nonstop, since he left Dragon’s End on the eastern end of the ridge. His clothes were worn-out and his shoes had been destroyed from stepping on the silvery sands, and each step hurt like walking on a thousand tiny glass shards. He ran his hand through his forehead, wiping the sweat away, his brow furrowed. The darkness was already coming from the horizon, an endless stretch of sand that didn’t seem to end in any direction.

Stuart had talked extensively with the Dark Sister on how to become a Nyctian and worship Death fully, to get the power to fulfill his revenge. She had told him that all Nyctians must prove they are worthy somehow, and that for someone like him she had thought of the right task – a journey into the Moon Desert.

The Moon Desert was the very arid expanse of silvery sands he walked now. From its color it got its name. It was situated in the far east of the world, beyond Dragon’s End and the Holy Kingdom. It was rumored that the first men to populate the Valley, the ancestors of Syns and Saurs alike, had originally arrived in the Valley from the east. Those eras, however, were long lost in the past, buried by the tides of time; much like the ancient secrets of the desert had been buried by the sand left there by the cold winds of the night.

Being one of the only two deserts in the described world, it was even less well-known than the Searing Desert, at least by the inhabitants of the Kingdom, because the Nyctians lay in between and few people dared traverse their refuge within the deadly mountains. The Sylunites knew where it was, but not how far east it stretched. The Marsh peoples had never bothered to navigate the South Sea in that direction, not after so many storms had ruined their ships and contributed to the waning of their glory and prosperity. In the north, the desert gave in to the Northern steppes that lay east of the Dark Lands, and even further than that was the Deep North with its frozen coasts.

For his journey, Stuart had been given by the head of the Nyctians little information, and only water to last him a few days. His only instructions: to go forward until he reached his limit. He had inquired on what the Nyctians knew about the Moon Desert that wasn’t taught in the Kingdom, but only found riddles and evasives. He felt like he’d been hurled into a suicide mission. If he fell unconscious and dehydrated, who would save him? Parrish was far, far away from him, and had not been allowed to come along. But how would he ever be worthy of anything in Dragon’s End if he was scared of death? Was that the point? Or were they simply testing his intelligence?

He kept walking after everything around him was darkness, and the chill of the night sank deep into his thin, pale skin, all the way down to his bones. He had too few clothes for a night in the desert. Soon his muscles felt too weak, and he thought he should stop, be he was beyond determined and maybe a bit insane.

*

At dawn, he was still walking and at the limit of his strength. He had drunk but not rested. He was beginning to hallucinate; he’d seen Stiles, or perhaps his own reflection, far into the distance where the rising red sun stood over black line that cut off its lower part. He thought about what it all meant; he thought about his future, his past. He wondered if it had all been a nightmare. If Stiles could have, somehow, survived, because his voice still felt so real in his head…

Behind him Dragon’s End wasn’t visible anymore, and he was surrounded by the same dunes in every direction. The Prince felt insignificant, for the first time in his life, in the world. He felt frustration, even fear that he may die, but he rejected those feelings.

He kept walking until his vision became blurry and he fell forward into the sands, unconscious.

*

Parrish had been given his own task to prove himself worthy of learning the secrets of non-draconic pyromancy, all from the best fire lords among the Nyctians. He had always had an interest in fire, a common type of magic that was nevertheless very dangerous to use. In consequence, his training in palace, as a knight, was limited. It wasn’t the hardest of the magical schools to master, but it was one of the most destructive. Pyromancers and gelomancers didn’t usually get along.

The Dark Sister had instructed Parrish to go to an active volcano in the south of Dragon’s End, close to Orin Tornys, where dragons had originally been found thousands of years ago. His only clues on what to do were to descend as deep within the earth as it went. He left Raszira’s rest through narrow passes that stood unsteady above deep gorges, in between the numerous peaks within the mountain range. He traveled south alone with little possessions, and food and drink for his long journey.

When he was close to the part of Dragon’s End that shielded the Marshes off the southern expanses of the Moon Desert, he found the cave system they had been talking about in the Nyctian temples. He didn’t hesitate to go in, determined to achieve whatever they wanted him to do for Stuart and his promise to John, carrying only a torch. The caves went deep into the mountains and below the desert. There were complex labyrinthic passages that communicated with each other, forming a vast web of galleries and chambers. Old paintings were left in the walls, from ancient ages, and there were bones in some chambers, animal and human alike. It was likely that dragon eggs were still present in the deepest places of the earth, out of the reach of men, together with rare mineral ores and precious gemstones.

Deep within the caves, he found little need for the torch, despite the absence of natural light. Lava glowed and permeated the stale atmosphere with a heat that would be unbearable for the majority of people.

But not for him.

 

**Pentos, September 1013 AN**

“We should sell this one to the Silver Wall”, a man with a Rod of Domination spat out, “don’t you think?”, he added, raising an eyebrow, looking at him. “I hear in the Summer Islands they breed strong folk.”

“I’ll do as commanded, master”, Boyd deadpanned, not moving an inch.

The man smiled to himself and kept pacing through the market.

*

“What? That’s not what I agreed to!”, she screamed, outraged and stepping back.

The older woman with the rod laughed. “What is it… does the Sylunite whore need more silken sheets to be comfortable? It’s the less you can do, considering your fit yesterday! Two girls had to stop working to assist you!”

Erica squinted her eyes at the woman’s bitter face. Her expression became cold as she said, “you’re a slave now, and you’ll do as commanded.”

“I’m not a slave!”, Erica said, taking the rod from the clumsy woman and landing a blow on her head that left her unconscious. She started bleeding from her ear – maybe she was dead, Erica thought.

She panicked, and left running through the back door into the dark, chilly Pentosi night.

*

Derek was just returning alone from getting some affairs done in Pentos after sunset. He was crossing the Silver Wall tunnels to go back to the oasis when he heard some noise in the distance with his enhanced senses. His eyes flashed blue as he hurried up, jogging, to find out what it was.

He found a bronze-collared man and woman arguing with each other in the middle of the night. The man had the smoothest, darkest skin he had ever seen; and no hair, so his skin was shining beautifully against the moonlight as his shape blended in with the night. The woman had long and curly blond hair and she had too few clothes for the night, making her anything but inconspicuous. It was also apparent she had been running with said clothes through the dusty street. Clothes which probably meant she was a prostitute; a long provocative dress, and if the amount of messy make-up was any indication he was right on both accounts.

“You can’t just escape!”, the man said, whispering, “if they find out, they’ll crucify us both!”

“Well I have nothing to lose because I killed the fucking pimp!”, the woman spat out, “just lie to them!”

“I can’t”, he said, apparently troubled.

“Then you’re just like them!”, she replied, angrily, her tone too high.

Derek advanced towards them and when they realized they had a visitor, both stared wide-eyed at him, frozen. Erica was about to say something but her lips simply trembled and she closed her mouth again. Boyd clenched his fists as his forearm muscles flexed, on guard.

“You’re a fugitive slave?”, he asked, looking at her.

She tried to turn and run, but Derek grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer. She reeked of fear.

“I’m not one of them”, he said, with a rough voice, and her look became suspicious. “I’m a Syn from the Eastern Lands”, he continued, “and we don’t believe in slavery”, he explained, with a serious expression.

He turned his face to look at Boyd. “You’re a slave guard, right?”

Boyd nodded and swallowed.

He let go of Erica and sighed heavily, her face muscles relaxing. “I think I’ve come up with a solution. What do you know about the Sehari, warrior?”, he asked, raising an eyebrow. Erica looked at him confused, but her fear was soon gone.

*

The next morning, Derek was sharpening his knife below a palm tree when a shadow appeared on the ground and erased his own. He felt the scent of his sister. He looked up and she seemed upset.

“What’s wrong?”, Derek said, with fake innocence in his voice as he raised his eyebrows.

She chuckled sarcastically. “Are you going to pretend you didn’t spend a month’s worth of salary buying a fucking slave?”, Laura spat out.

“No longer a slave”, he retaliated, airily.

She looked at him with apprehension. “I’m not babysitting for anyone”, she said, “they’re all your responsibility”, she blurted out.

“I never suggested it was to be any other way. You’d have done the same thing”, he said, still focused on his task.

She huffed and turned to leave.

*

Within Deaton’s mansion, late in the morning, Scott was taking care of the horses alone when one of the servants approached. It was Kira. He smiled at her and she returned the smile shyly.

“How are you?”, he asked with a wide smile.

“I’m fine”, she said, nodding repeatedly and awkwardly. She seemed hesitant but then continued. “I heard you climbed through the roof yesterday?”

Scott laughed. “Yeah. We arrived late and didn’t want anyone to notice… but John heard and, well, we’re not going to hear the end of it. He came with his sword and all.”

Kira giggled, and Scott thought she looked adorable when she did. “I bet with Melissa you won’t either.”

Scott tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. “I did get punished without seeing Ewyn for some time.”

Kira gaped. “Can she do that?”

Scott smiled. “I bet, she did say ‘Scott, then no Ewyn’, and Ewyn tried to argue, but my mother glared and she had to run away.”

Kira let out a heart-felt chuckle and it filled Scott’s ears with a familiar warmth. He kept smiling sheepishly, unable to help himself, as they stared at each other in silence for a moment.

*

Ewyn was in the oasis doing her usual tasks of healing and counseling people of all parts of the world about the Light. She didn’t consider herself a preacher, but there were things that were worth hearing. When she learned about the two new former slaves, she went straight to talk with them. She felt confident; her pendant exposed between her breasts and her white shirt clean because she had just washed it before. Her long, brown hair was running free down her shoulders, clean and smooth too.

Boyd and Erica were leaning back against two trees close to the pond, alone, and they barely even acknowledged Ewyn’s presence when she stepped closer to them. Well, this was off to a good start. She cleared her throat.

“Boyd and Erica, right?”, she broke the ice, looking at Erica, because Boyd was a bit intimidating.

“Yes”, Erica said, simply, and returned to staring at the horizon. Boyd simply nodded, eyeing her briefly.

“Is it true the Syn warrior bought you?”, she asked, looking at them with curiosity.

“Yes”, Boyd said, staring at her, “he bought me and she came along”, he added, visibly annoyed.

“What do you want from us?”, Erica said, “Have you come to preach against the vices?”

Ewyn let out a good laugh. “No! No, not at all. I just wanted to make sure you were fine. It’s always good when they free former slaves… the Light has forbidden slavery in the Holy Kingdom for thousands of years. I resent it. Every person should have control over their bodies, souls and fates.”

Boyd’s expression seemed to soften and Erica was staring at her with furtive eyes, and she stepped closer, getting in her personal space.

“That’s great! Maybe even the Light approves of my former vices!”, she said, a bit too joyous, mocking Ewyn’s justice speech. She placed a hand in Ewyn’s lower back and felt her blush. Then she placed the other hand over one of Ewyn’s breasts, and she held back a whine.

“Um?”, Ewyn said, stunned. Boyd blushed and looked aside.

“I’m going to be a mercenary against the Sehari. I’m going to train with the Syn and be the very best. And I’m going to use my body in a different way than I have until now, you know?”, she said, almost whispering in her ear.

“I also resent those who enslave very much… they need liberation”, she admitted, softly, and pressed her hand to Ewyn’s crotch, making her whimper and take a step back.

Boyd cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable. Ewyn was blushing. “Stop right there”, she said; with a weak voice and losing her balance a bit.

Erica openly laughed. “Look at the Saur mage!”, she said, looking sideways at Boyd, “Isn’t she amusing? You should meet Derek.”

“Derek?”, Ewyn said in a high tone, confused, tucking her shirt.

“What’s going on here”, she heard a voice from behind say, as someone stepped on the grass.

She turned around, and it was the broody Syn warrior from the other day. She froze in place and the man raised his brow, glaring at her.

“Was she bothering you?”, he said, looking past her, at Boyd and Erica.

“I’m right here!”, she said, stepping forward, looking at him angrily. “Stop being so damn rude”, she added. “I was telling them how good it was you freed slaves, because in the Holy Kingdom we don’t believe in slavery. At least in Sylune we don’t”, she emphasized, staring at him.

His expression was blank but then he spoke, emphatically too. “Well, you don’t have to worry then. We Syns don’t believe in slavery in the North either.”

“Fine”, Ewyn spat out, still irritated, raising her chin.

“Fine”, he echoed, mocking her and crossing his arms, still in place.

“Fine”, she repeated one last time, in a lower voice. Then she turned and left, nodding at Boyd and Erica who followed her with her eyes.

*

Boyd and Derek were sparring later on that day by the side of Laura, who was teaching Erica some self defense. Both of them lacked any real formal training, so there was a lot of work to be done. Derek was helping Boyd up from the ground where he had just put him, offering his hand. Boyd took it and let himself be pulled, shaking the sand from his clothes afterwards. They kept training for a long time and when they finally took a rest, the four of them sat together on a log in the ground, close to the oasis.

“So, this girl…”, Laura started, looking at his brother with a smile.

“Ewyn”, Erica pointed out, smiling as well.

Boyd raised an eyebrow from the other side. Derek didn’t respond initially, but finally caved in.

“What about her?”, he said in the most bored tone he could master.

“You obviously like her”, Erica said cheerily.

Derek scoffed, and Laura’s grin just widened as her eyes flashed red.

 

**Sylune, September 1013 AN**

Allyson and Isaac were sitting side by side in the Palace, outside the Council Room, waiting impatiently. Inside, the four remaining great nobles, heads of the main houses of the Kingdom, were deliberating. They were King Gerard, Lord Bolton, Lady Martin and Lord Whittemore, that is, Jackson.

The fire from months ago had taken the lives of many Sylunite nobles, including both of Jackson’s parents and Lydia’s father; and the whole Royal family, of course. That meant the Council Seats had been rearranged. The Argents had taken over the Stilinskis, occupying two Seats at the same time, being most of the Saur representation in Sylune. To compensate, the Boltons also took over the First Syn seat. Lord Deucalion Bolton had been given full administrative control over the north, meaning that the Dark Lands and Grizzly Hills, as well as Osternis, were now controlled jointly from Ashenfort. The other two seats had been filled by Lady Martin, in the place of her dead husband, and Lord Whittemore, an orphan that had already come of age.

Allyson felt like crying; she did every day, but she stopped herself from doing so by thinking about the things and the ones she still had around. Like Isaac, who had become more important than a friend to her. His father, Sir Coach, had died in the fire, too, and not much later he had a breakdown. He confessed to her all about the abuse from his father after the death of his older brother, Camden. After all, Scott’s suspicions and her own hadn’t been unfounded. Not much later, Isaac joined the King’s Guard for training.

Isaac half-embraced her and she let herself be pulled close to his body, accepting the comfort. She sighed deeply against his breastplate, steaming it up. He petted her hair for a while, and they didn’t really need to talk.

Soon the Council was over and her fears came true. Jackson looked at her from behind Gerard, apologetic and with a sad face. He motioned for Isaac to follow him and the both of them left.

Allyson was promptly informed that she was now betrothed to Jackson Whittemore, which meant that Gerard had dissolved Lord Martin and Lord Whittemore’s previous betrothal of him to Lydia Martin. This also meant that the presence of the obnoxious Boltons in court would become more incessant in their children’s attempts to court her.

She sighed and left, fast, before tears could form in her eyes in the sight of the King. She hated feeling weak and helpless, and that was what her life now made her feel like daily.

*

Victoria, Kate and Gerard were sitting around a table in the Court Room within the Palace, drinking wine and discussing the issues of the Kingdom.

“The Boltons did their part right”, Gerard said, smiling.

“And now we’ve done ours”, Kate added, taking a sip from her cup. She let it down and gloated. “Don’t you think I deserve my reward, father?”

His father smiled softly. “Actually, yes. Since you were born in the year 77, no one has made me more proud than you. You’ve played your part well”, he said, with pride in his eyes, “and I can’t think of anyone more fitting to rule over Storm Cape than the slayer of Darkness, now that Allyson is the Crown Princess”, he concluded, solemnly.

Kate’s grin widened, and she felt as much happiness as she did some sort of bittersweet emotion. In 977 AN, Kate Argent had come to the world, the youngest sibling in her small family, killing her own mother at birth. Gerard had been harsh with her during her childhood, but he also was with Chris. It was mostly her own thing, she thought, that she had sometimes felt a need to prove herself useful – in her own ways. It may mitigate the guilt she irrationally felt for bereaving her family of the mother she never had. But most times, she just did what was on her best interest.

Chris, on the other hand, had always been kind and loving to her younger sister. She had been the hardest one to raise, refusing to do as told. Now, however, she had made her father proud and furthered her family’s goals, making herself Lady of Storm Cape in the process. There’s nothing else she wanted to ask for.

Indeed, not much later in the year, Kate left the Red Orb under Victoria’s watchful eyes and left home. She went south to rule as the Argent Scaled Saur she had always wanted to be.

*

Jackson informed Lydia himself that he was to be the Prince, and Lydia didn’t react as expected; mostly because she didn’t react. Jackson may have expected her to be relieved, or maybe sad, but he really couldn’t guess what Lydia was thinking anymore. He voiced some of his thoughts to her, angry, while they were eating alone in her home. She had barely eaten anything.

“Why don’t you tell me how you really feel, Lydia?”, he said, exasperated, “I don’t know what to say to you anymore! This can’t go on…”

Lydia looked at him with a blank expression, and calmly replied.

“I just don’t feel anything anymore.”

*

Victoria and Chris were eating together in the Palace, alone, talking about Allyson’s future.

“I think Jackson is a good match”, Victoria explained, after laying down her cutlery, “his family has a good name and they’re of Saur heritage. Sylune will finally pay the south the respect Claudia never did.”

Chris looked at her intently. “I’m not sure Allyson is happy with this decision”, Chris began saying, “but it’s still too soon… I still think you should’ve given her more time after her friends died.”

“We wouldn’t be who we are if we didn’t think forward”, she concluded, placing both hands in her table. “Like your father, whose appeal to the masses was quickly bolstered with sermons about the Light. Those small peoples sure loved their Queen”, she pointed.

“What’s more”, Victoria went on, “It’s better if Allyson moves on from… those friends”, she added with a hint of disdain, “and into a brighter future”, she noted, raising an eyebrow.

Chris spoke calmly as he let down his cutlery. “They loved Claudia because she was a good Queen to the Sylunites. As is the Light good for their peace of mind”, he replied.

“And I’m sure Gerard will be a good Father to the Kingdom”, she added, smiling, raising her cup, “if the Sylunites want reassurance, we’ll give it to them. To the King.”

“To the King”, Chris replied, smiling, making a toast to the new Sylune.

 

**Dragon’s End, October 1013 AN**

Stuart’s mind was drifting into the nothingness, a state so similar to death it was tempting to let go of all emotions, the pain and the misery of the world, to fade into nonexistence. But he didn’t because, deep within himself, he had the one last motivation intact, his love and hatred mingled with the faint hope of finding his brother and getting back what had been taken from him.  

The absolute darkness evaporated and his mind began letting him know about the world again. Beyond all his five senses: the chilly sensation of dawn in the desert, the taste of sand in his mouth… he could feel a strange pull from darkness itself in front of him. It was that pull that made him invoke the strength to stand up and move forward, not even knowing how. Step by step, he dragged his feet against the crystalline grains of sand he could see with a surreal detail. He ignored all the pain in his body and tilted his head to look up, finding what he never thought he’d find in the Moon Desert: an end to it.

Before him stood a vast black onyx wall, several hundred feet high, imposing itself insurmountable over the expanses of the desolate desert. It was covered in carvings that seemed to hold no known meaning. He went on until he could touch it, noticing the dark energy imbued into the material. It eerily filled him with energy instead of taking it away. He closed his eyes and walked by the side of the wall, making contact with it all the time, following its pull.

Not much time has passed when the sky was already lighter, a strange blueish shade of purple. A few feet separate from the wall there was a tall altar that obviously had a big part of the structure buried within the sands. He left the wall and stumbled to the altar, kneeling before it. His presence made some scarabs walk away from the artifact. The energy permeating the air materialized and a thin violet aura surrounded him and the object, binding them and making him feel more ecstatic than before. He opened his eyes widely and saw the black hilt of a sword at the top of it.

He summoned enough strength to stand up, first one leg and then the other, almost falling, but managing to hold on. His sleeves were rolled up his forearms and his clothes were as dirty as they could get from rolling over the sands. He held on to the hilt with both hands and just followed his instincts, pulling as he conjured dark energy between his hands. The sword responded to his power and seemed to accept his might. The violet light glowed stronger as the whole sword lit. He felt a rush of energy running down his body, from his hands down to the tips of his toes.

Next he knew, his eyes were glazed as the altar shattered into a thousand tiny stones and he was left holding the long sword. The blade was silvery but he was sure the material it was made from was unknown to most mortals. It kept a thin layer of energy around that radiated the same violet glow, only much weaker. It was barely perceptible, but it infused the blade with an untellable amount of power. His grip on the hilt became firmer, and he stabbed the ground as he smiled, exhilarated.

*

Below the desert, close to Dragon’s End, Parrish walked through a small pass within a chasm. It had a pool of lava deep below. The vapors from the molten, fiery stone ascended and made him dizzy. He was dehydrated, but he walked on towards another pool. This one was filling up because of a lava fall, which flowed down from a higher level in the gallery. Before said pool there was a big and oddly round-shaped stone that seemed out of place. When he arrived at the stone, he fell to his knees and pressed his hands against it. He wondered if it was the end, closing his eyes and lying on his side.

He remembered why he was here, and he knew he couldn’t ever battle a dragon alongside Stuart if he didn’t master fire. Fire was the reason he had been given this mission, and he had to become one with it if he wanted to survive. He opened his eyes and realized his time was running out. The situation became dire when he heard a gush of lava approaching from the fall behind him and the rock. He stood, in time to see the blazing molten rock coming towards him and blinding him with its orange light.

He closed his eyes and pressed his hand to the stone. He felt the vapors with the soul of the pyromancer, and instead of making him dizzier they reinforced his will and strength. When the gush hit him he had already stared at the rock enough to shatter it and it created a fire shield around him. He kept his eyes open, his irides shining with the orange glow of the phoenix. Parrish was a fireborn, and he couldn’t be hurt by fire.

The gush engulfed the place where he was. After a while it flowed out, into the pool in front of him; or simply fell to the lower levels through the narrow pass behind him. Only a few burning rocks were left around him. He looked in front of him and noticed an orange and red small shield in the ground. He took it up, smiling.

*

Within the Temple of Bones, after a ceremony, Stuart Stilinski stayed sitting in a bench as all the other brothers and sisters left. The only one remaining was the Dark Sister, behind the altar, who then walked through the dark floor towards him. He was sitting with one arm behind the bench, reclined, smirking. He hadn’t worn the typical robes, instead preferring just a dark shirt with a cord for a belt and some matching shorts, because it was still hot in the mountains.

“Your friend returned yesterday”, she announced, calmly.

Stuart gaped as his eyes widened. “How is he?”, he asked, worry apparent in his expression.

“Resting”, she said. “He has a fever, but it’s to be expected”, she added, amused.

Stuart stood up; he was taller than her, but she didn’t tilt her head in the slightest. “You both did well in your missions. Your initiation rituals will take place soon.”

“I want to see him”, he said, simply, looking at her unmoved.

“Follow me”, she said, equally unfazed but already turning. Her eyes were always hidden inside her hood, and her silver hair barely showed. But she reminded him of someone he knew well, and he couldn’t place it.

*

Parrish was still asleep, but he looked comatose and Stuart couldn’t help but worry a bit. He knelt by his bed and put his hand in Parrish’s forehead. He whispered softly against his temple, smiling weakly.

“We’ve taken the first step. I missed you, I’m so glad you made it… I knew you would”, he said, as Parrish’s brow furrowed. Maybe he was dreaming.

“Please, wake up soon”, he begged.

*

Parrish woke up coughing as the sun was setting and darkness was beginning to enshroud the ridge. Stuart had been sitting on a chair by his side. He was close to a very big window, which was actually more of an opening in the dark wall. When he noticed, he quickly went to the bed to reassure him.

“Hey”, he said, looking down at his friend. “You did it.” He smiled at him.

“Yeah”, Parrish said, and coughed again. “What about you?”, he added, with a rough voice, as he prodded himself up with both elbows to sit on the bed. The thin sheet fell down to reveal his bare chest.

Stuart tapped his fingers against the hilt of his sword, sheathed on his left thigh, and motioned with his head for Parrish to look at it.

“What is that?”, Parrish asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Stuart handed him a bowl of water. “Drink”, he said, and Parrish took it from his hands to take a sip. He then left it on a nightstand by the side of the bed.

“It’s Soul Reaver”, he said, proud and serious. “The Dark Sister says it was a mythological sword no one had been able to retrieve from the Black Wall.”

Parrish smiled. “The Black Wall?”, he asked.

“I’ll explain to you later”, he said, nodding, “You should rest a bit more, I’m sure you’re so tired. I heard you got the Dragon Shield.”

“I did”, Parrish rasped, happy.

“I’ll leave you now”, Stuart said, standing, as he turned to leave, “tomorrow will be our first day as Nyctians.”

Parrish nodded and lay back on the bed, relaxing and closing his eyes. Stuart motioned to leave, walking towards the door.

“Stuart”, he heard a voice say from behind, as he was about to exit the room. He put his hand in the frame and looked back, where Parrish was looking at the ceiling. “Yes, lad?”, he asked, unsure.

“I’m glad I stayed with you”, he said, simply, and turned to sleep.

 

**Pentos, October, 1013 AN**

“I’ve made up my mind!”, Ewyn said, “Maybe this will help with my memory. I need to do this!”, she added, flailing her arms.

“The Sehari are a bunch savages! Why would you want to throw yourselves at them like that? If they take you, who knows what they’ll do to you!”, John asked her, with his hands in his waist, angry. “I wish I could at least go with you…”

Ewyn stared at him, still resolute. “You’re not my bodyguard!”, she said, poking him, “and I do appreciate that you and Melissa take care of me…”, she continued, speaking more gently as she let down her hand, “but you have your duties and this is my own life. I’ll find a way even if you two and Deaton try to stop me.”

John took a step back, defeated but still pained. “I’ve simply lost too many people who were important to me already…”

Ewyn pulled him into her arms for a hug. “I know… I’m sorry. I promise I will return, okay? This mission is important for all of Pentos”, she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder. He felt the closest to a father she ever remembered. The thought felt strange, and she quirked her eyebrows.

John sighed deeply, squeezing her tighter into the embrace.

*

Ewyn left at dawn, hugging Scott at the gates of Deaton’s mansion.

“Promise me you’ll take care”, Scott said, smiling weakly.

“I will”, Ewyn replied, winking at him. “And I’ll take care of all those reckless mercenaries. Including the broody Syn twins”, she added, laughing.

Scott giggled and squeezed her shoulder as they separated “You sure talk a lot about them”.

Ewyn stuck her tongue out but then smiled. She turned around, put on her hood and left walking towards the darkness. She was headed to the main square and then the Golden Wall.

Scott let out a deep sigh and looked as her friend disappeared around the corner, into adventure.

 

**Red Mountains, October, 1013 AN**

“Is everyone from the oasis already here?”, Laura asked Derek, looking at the horizon. The sun was already coming up, coloring the desert sky red and even more so the mountains behind them. They were close to the river named Pentos.

“Looks like we have one last girl coming!”, Erica said cheerily, from behind Derek, pointing at someone who had come running. “This is going to be fun”, she said, sounding too pleased with herself.

Derek rolled his eyes. Laura let out a chuckle.

Soon Ewyn caught up to the group, and stopped running. She rested her hands on her knees to catch her breath, looking like an agonizing gazelle that had just run for her life. Her chest was heaving deeply. Derek wondered whether she’d actually make it through the mission… thought he didn’t really care; at least that’s what he told himself.

They soon left for the west, where they’d check out the Sehari hideout they had located the previous month. In a few nights it’d be a Blood Moon. The Sehari didn’t practice magic, but they were strongly superstitious. They would make sacrifices and there were rumors about a dragon egg that could hatch from those rituals. And if they succeeded… well, Pentos didn’t want to endure another Sehari horde; not one with fully enraged warriors that believed they would win under the right omens.

Because, be their beliefs true or not, that never ended well.

*

By the night they were already close to the hideout, but they decided to be patient and rest for the day before they advanced any farther into the red mountains and its caves. They’d have to cross the river through one of the unsophisticated and perilous wooden bridges that the Sehari used. They often had traps and some of the pieces were loose on purpose so the intruders would fall into the river.

Most of the mercenaries went to sleep early and, by midnight the desert was already enshrouded in the darkness and a bit chilly. Only Derek, Boyd, Laura and Ewyn were still sitting by the bonfire. She was opposite of them, sitting on a log and looking mesmerized at the flames. They were talking in Iberish; Derek had taught them and both Boyd and Erica were fast learners. Boyd, indeed, had learned Pentosi since he first arrived in record time, because when they took him, he didn’t speak a single word.

“So, Derek”, Laura said, taking a chunk of meat from her brochette into her mouth, “do you have any ideas for tomorrow?”

Derek turned his head to look at her, sitting by his side. “There shouldn’t be a problem if we have good visibility. We distract them, we get the egg and we put the bomb in the den.”

Laura nodded. “If we have good visibility”, she repeated.

Boyd quirked his eyebrows and looked at them. “Do you think there could be a sandstorm?”

“It’d be unusual, considering we’ll be on the other side of the river”, Derek said, drinking from his wineskin, “but it could happen.”

Boyd looked at the fire and nodded slowly.

“Don’t worry, though”, Derek added, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder, “we’ll make it through… tomorrow’s a full moon”, he said, smiling, flashing his eyes blue.

Laura flashed hers red, grinning mischievously as well.

“Why does that matter?”, Erica asked, confused.

“You’ll see”, Laura said simply, uncrossing her legs and looking up at the crescent moon, almost full already.

Boyd let out a small giggle. “I thought that was a bad omen. You Syns are the weirdest of peoples.”

By then, Ewyn was walking towards them, carrying a blanket over her shoulder to shield her from the night’s cold temperature. She sat besides Laura, feeling her movements closely watched by the northerner. Derek and Boyd ignored her, but Erica followed her too with a smile.

“I’m cold”, she said, unprompted. Laura raised an eyebrow.

Ewyn sighed. She began talking in Iberish, to everyone’s shock.

“Don’t mind me. Keep talking about how weird Syns are. I don’t mind. I see you’ve taught your islander well. And I don’t know where Erica’s from”, she rambled.

Derek raised both eyebrows and looked at her, interested.

“Why does the holy Saur talk Iberish?”, Erica blurted out, as she licked her teeth, amused.

Ewyn glared at her after eyeing Derek briefly. “I don’t know. I don’t remember anything about my past” she confessed, looking a bit sadder than her usual joyous self. They seemed to notice.

Boyd’s eyebrows did as Derek’s and Laura’s. “What do you mean?”, he asked, without the usual exasperation in his voice whenever they talked. Unlike the mysterious Syn siblings, Erica and Boyd did get hurt. And, well, Ewyn had to put up with Erica’s teasing all by herself, whereas Boyd seemed annoyed by any attempt at small talk, sympathizing with Derek.

Ewyn began talking about Sylune and the Hale siblings seemed less angry and more longing than usual. She spoke what she knew about herself, about Scott and Melissa, but she didn’t mention Deaton or John because John was hiding in exile and it was meant to be kept a secret from everyone outside the family. She learned things from them as well: that they had been raised in the North and came West after Belerion’s devastation; that Erica was a Sylunite herself; and that Boyd’s freedom had been bought by Derek after she had fled a Pentosi brothel.

The night went on, and eventually it was just Ewyn, Laura and Derek talking. When Laura said goodnight, the two of them were left alone by the bonfire, standing far from each other, but talking without their usual banter and bitterness. Laura winked at Derek when she left and he sighed at the horizon, sitting with his forearms resting over his thighs. Ewyn was doodling in the sand with a stick, and both had fallen into a comfortable silence.

“It’s always seemed pretty stupid to me, you know”, Ewyn said, finally, trying to find the right words, “all the Syn and Saur enmity. It’s like we haven’t learned a thing in thousands of years…”

Derek let out a joyless huff, looking at her intensely with his beautiful greenish eyes. “You’re right. Queen Claudia tried so hard, and she was a good woman… but the Prince…”, Derek said and then stopped, having obviously hit a sensitive subject for himself. He bit his lips, looking at the fire with deep emotion.

“I’ve… I’ve been told the story. Scott told me”, she admitted, “even if I don’t remember about him myself all that well.”

Derek looked at her, and for a moment she thought she saw a hint of vulnerability in his eyes; like he wanted to say something. But he remained silent, and his expression hardened again.

He then let out a deep breath. “We’ve lost so many people, me and Laura”, he said, “It just doesn’t get any easier. To bear with their losses every day, because you just can’t forget. If I could, I would kill the Prince again myself for what he did”, he said hoarsely.

Ewyn nodded, sad. “I’m sorry for your losses”, she said sincerely.

“I wonder if I lost somebody myself… the world is filled with so much misery; you get to see that as a holy mage”, she confessed with a heavy tone. “For Light’s sake; sometimes I wonder if I’m better off not remembering…”, she said, sighing.

“Am I?”, she asked rhetorically, looking absent-mindedly at the flames, tilting her head.

“I wish I knew the answer to that”, Derek said, and they fell in companionable silence for a minute.

Then Derek got up and looked down at her, realizing the hour was late. He scratched his head, hesitant.  

“Goodnight, Ewyn. You should rest for tomorrow. I… think I should go.”

She smiled up at him. “You’re right. Nice talking to you. Night, Derek.”

Derek nodded, a weak smile on his face, and left without another word. Ewyn was left as the last person by the bonfire that night, staring mesmerized at the flames, pondering if their flickering had anything to tell her about their fate tomorrow.

And, just maybe, the frowny Syn wasn’t that bad after all.

*

The next day the mercenary party crossed the river and went into the red dust of the mountains, staying close to the riverbank in case they had to retreat. They took their time because they wanted to make sure nobody fell into a Sehari trap, and luckily they didn’t. Ewyn didn’t meet with Laura’s pack for the rest of the day.

By the evening, they were already very close to the Sehari hideout, and that night would be crucial. They decided to plan their strike carefully. The leaders met with all of them and the strategy was outlined. What they didn’t predict, though, was that during the late evening the Sehari would ambush the group; while they were cheerfully conversing and resting, feeling safe.

And that wasn’t all. When everyone scattered, most of the party members fled towards the desert – only to be met by a sandstorm. Clearly the Sehari had planned it all, and that was why they seemed too oblivious.

That much goes for underestimating your enemies, Laura thought. She shouldn’t have agreed with the leaders, she realized belatedly.

Derek lost his group, and he saw some of the others in the distance as the sands engulfed them from the south. They were already beyond Pentos and it was too far west; they didn’t really know the landscape as well around that part of the mountains.

The winds were blowing strongly and nobody could see a damn thing; some managing to find refuge behind big rocks, in caves, or simply lying in the ground and hoping not to be buried beyond the possibility of digging themselves up later.

Ewyn managed to shield herself from the razor-sharp grains of sand with a spherical orb of light around her body, but only for a limited amount of time. She was lucky the sandstorm didn’t last very long either; but it lasted enough for her to lose track of everyone else in the group.

When it was finally over, Ewyn got up on her feet and started looking at the distance, with a hand in her forehead, to see if she could find anyone in the group. It was already darker, and the night would fall soon. Her things were all in the camp, so she should really find someone to find a way to spend the night safe.

She tried to walk north, but she felt she was lost. When she was about to despair, she finally saw a silhouette in the distance, which then became a body. Its complexion was too pale to be a Sehari, so she felt relieved. He wasn’t carrying a saber either, their usual weapon.

It was Derek. Terrific. They may’ve talked for a night without wanting to kill each other, but that didn’t mean he was the person she wanted to be stuck in a life or death situation like this. No, not quite.

Apparently Derek shared some of her thoughts, because when he heard her, from too far away for a normal person to hear, he openly scowled. Then he kept staring, his mouth a line. Maybe he hoped it was a mirage?

When they finally met; Derek stood from where he was kneeling in the sands, and he turned back to face her. He let out a deep sigh.

Ewyn raised her eyebrows and tilted her head, challenging him to speak.

 

**Dragon’s End, October 1013 AN**

Stuart and Parrish stood together before the Nyctian altar, in front of the Dark Sister, who was on the other side. The acolytes were gathered behind them, with their heads bowed, chanting to Death.

The crone was holding Soul Reaver with both hands, offering it to Stuart. He took it and sheathed it on the left side of his body, nodding solemnly.

She then looked at Parrish. “You have also passed the test”, she spoke, “by getting the Dragon Shield, you’ve shown us you’re a true fireborn. You deserve the Scorcher”, she added, calmly, as she pulled another sword from below the altar. It looked like a normal blade, with the hilt in red and orange hues. There were dragon heads carved in it. When Parrish nodded and took it, the blade lit all over with a faint orange flame.

The Dark Sister smiled. “It recognizes you.”

Parrish and Stuart turned sideways and looked in each other’s eyes, remaining silent. The Dark Sister, behind them, raised her hands.

“Should Ewyn’s dream fail, the world will be consumed in the flames of death…”, she recited.

The Nyctians repeated the words in unison, and Stuart’s expression hardened as he placed his hand in his friend’s shoulder. The Dark Sister was staring down at the altar. She stood between two fel fire braziers, mumbling ancient Dynic sayings to herself. As he focused, cancelling out the background noise, Parrish only heard what his friend told him, determinate and cold.

“Those who stand in our way will meet the flames of death…”

Parrish tilted his chin and nodded. He understood.

**Red Mountains, October 1013 AN**

When the night fell in the desert, Derek and Ewyn still hadn’t found anyone from their group. They were sitting by a big boulder when Ewyn yawned, looking up at the stars and blinking.

“I… think it’s time to sleep”, she said in a tremulous, low tone. She looked at him hesitant, and felt her jaw clench.

He cleared his throat. “You’re shivering”, he said instead, and looked about to say something else but stopped. She became aware of herself, and it was true she was shaking a bit.

“Well, it’s a night in the open desert, duh”, she replied, crossing her arms.

He let out a deep breath. “Maybe we should… you know, sleep together”, he said, and grimaced as if he’d had to make an incredible effort to let the words out of his mouth. “Survival situations and body heat, what they teach in the oasis…”, he was prompt to justify.

She wanted to roll her eyes, but she was too exhausted. She just nodded and stepped a bit closer, lying on the ground with her back to him. Derek lay down awkwardly behind her, and didn’t know what to do with his arms. She turned her head to look back at him and raised an eyebrow. Derek stared back at her, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. She let out a sigh and took his hand, placing it around her waist. “There, come on. You’re not going to burn because you touch a Saur.”

He let out a soft laugh against her neck, and felt her shiver, though he didn’t know it was for a completely different reason than cold. Ewyn shut her eyes tightly and tried to let herself drift to sleep. Derek closed his eyes too, and let himself be soothed by the warm body around him and their heartbeats, sounding in sync, lulling them far away to the realm of dreams.

“S’warm”, Ewyn mumbled, pressing back against his chest. Derek felt the warmth of her body against the curve of his, and felt strangely contented.

Eventually he fell asleep too, exhausted from the day, ignoring the press of Ewyn’s body against other parts of his own, and thanking the Light she was already asleep.    

They woke up with the first light. Ewyn coughed as she opened her eyes, and Derek was already getting up from the ground. She was about to say something when they heard horse hooves approaching.

They looked at the same side, turning their heads, and saw Sehari riders encircling them. Well, shit, Ewyn thought out loud – or maybe not, because the savages were glaring at her. Derek rolled his eyes.

*

Derek and Ewyn were tied to a wooden post, sitting on the sand and with their backs to each other. They were in the middle of the desert, close to a temporary Sehari settlement.

The sand fuckers had planned it all, Derek realized belatedly.

“They were looking at you before”, Derek spat out, angry.

Ewyn chuckled. “So? Are you jealous?”

Derek scoffed. “No, you idiot. I think we’re their sacrifices.”

Ewyn tilted her head backwards and whispered, mocking him, as if they could understand them. “I think they didn’t kill us because they realized I’m a Holy Mage. Superstition’s not always bad!”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Yes, they think you have the purest of souls. That’s why they’ll offer it to the dragon egg.”

Ewyn bit her lip and looked forwards again, at the camp. There were some Sehari by the bonfire, and there was an old crone embracing the dragon egg carefully. It was greenish, almost brown, and quite big. Inspecting her environment, she realized there were tents all around them and the bonfire.  

“I should break these ropes and leave you here”, he said, exasperated.

“I’ll quote that when we’re back at the camp just so they can see how brave Syns are under stress”, she retaliated, squinting her eyes at him, turning her head.

Derek groaned.

Their chatter seemed to get the attention of the Sehari peoples, who got up. The old woman said something as they realized. Soon one of the warriors, who was dressed up in leather rags and sporting long hair in a braid, made a beeline for Ewyn. Ewyn stared at him blankly as he moved, a wide grin appearing in his face. She looked up at him as he knelt down before her, crouching. Derek turned his head, expectant and hyperaware.

“Um…”, Ewyn began saying, but was stopped when the man took out a knife and pressed it against her pale neck. She yelped.

Surprisingly, he spoke some Pentosi. “You little priest into dragon fire”, he said, his eyes crazy as he dragged on the last word, almost spitting on Ewyn’s face as she grimaced; “and me take little trinket”, he concluded laughing, grabbing the silver chain of her pendant and trying to break it with his knife.

Derek broke his ropes and roared at him, showing his fangs and flashing his eyes blue as a dumbfounded Ewyn stared at him in shock. The man fell on his ass on the sand and stared at him terrorized.

That very moment, a scream was heard in the distance and soon the Sehari camp was being overrun by Laura, Erica, Boyd and others from the mercenary party.

“SYN!, SYN!”, they could hear the man shout as he kicked the sand, trying to stand up and leave. The Sehari began screaming too, unsheathing their sabers and rushing towards them. Derek cut Ewyn’s rope with his claws as he grabbed her wrist and pulled her away hastily.

Laura trotted past them and jumped from her horse, landing on her feet. She crouched and then rose as she took out her knives before three hostile warriors. She let them fall on the sand, confusing them, and then flashed her eyes red as she shifted. She released her claws and charged towards them.

Erica and Boyd were wielding short swords and they came to Laura’s aid against the warriors. Derek and Ewyn were soon surrounded by four men, leaving them back to back again, though now not restrained by ropes, pacing nervously in the sand instead. Well, that would be Ewyn; Derek was stoic, still as iron, glowering at the men.

“I have to get the egg”, she blurted out, nervously, looking at the men. They seemed to be about to attack at the slightest provocation, “can we catch up later, big bad wolf?”

“Don’t do anything stupid”, he spat out, eyeing her briefly with his blue eyes.

“I’m out!”, she replied cheerily, winking at him. She cast a light spell that blinded the four men and ran off, leaping into the air. She used a weak form of an astral spell called levitation to push herself a bit farther than usual. She then landed gracefully and sprinted to save the distance to the bonfire, where the egg was lying unguarded.

She should’ve known it was suspicious, but she was in a hurry as she went to take it. She realized belatedly there was a girl holding a flask with a flammable mix. The Sehari often used such cocktails as bombs. The young woman hurled it at Ewyn, who took the chance to cast a shield spell. A small spherical surface materialized around her and became white when the flask hit it, shattering and spreading flames in every direction but hers. Then she broke the shield she had casted to direct the flames in the direction of the girl, modifying the course of the wind. The girl fled, and the tent that was behind her burned as well as the three men that were close.

She sighed as they cursed and turned back to look at Derek, who had already taken three men down. He was staring at her wide-eyed, chest heaving and fangs out. His shirt was covered in slightly bloody scratches that showed already-healed skin. Who knew the lycan myths of the north were true, after all?

“Leave the egg!”, he shouted, “it’s too dangerous!”, he pointed.

Ewyn turned to look back at the egg. The bonfire had spread and now the egg was in the middle of the fire, with Sehari attempting to take it from every direction but hesitant. Some of them had been burned already from trying.

“I have to”, she said softly, and pressed a hand to her chest as she stepped into the flames. She didn’t remember how, but she knew she was fireborn. 

“NO!”, Derek screamed, with fear in his eyes, but she was already inside the flame ring. The Sehari were yelling at her intrusion, but then a potent explosion from within the bonfire was unleashed and blew most of them off.

The people from the mercenary party, who were farther away, managed to crouch to avoid being hit by the pieces of wood flying around. The last man Derek was fighting wasn’t facing the fire, so he didn’t see the log that hit him in the head and put him on the ground.

Derek’s pupils shrank as he crouched again and put a hand over his forehead to protect his eyes from the blast of wind. He shifted back to human again after the situation had normalized. Most of the Sehari were dead or unconscious, and the blood moon was shining high in the star-speckled sky. Laura looked up at it, flashing her eyes red one last time, and then looked back down at Derek. Both of them approached the remains of the bonfire carefully to see what had happened.

Sitting inside was Ewyn, who then opened her eyes. Her usual golden color was shining with a novel bright light as she stood up, completely naked save for her necklace, which was shining too. Her skin was almost entirely covered in black from the soot and the ashes that were still raining. With no trace of the egg, Derek and Laura’s eyes widened when they saw a small, golden dragon climbing her body to stay on her shoulder, emitting a baby roar.

“This is Allaris”, Ewyn announced, decidedly.

 

**Sylune, Royal Palace, November 1013 AN**

Gerard and Victoria were strolling through the Royal gardens by the beautiful Sylunite sunset in the autumn. For the season, both sky and earth were filled by the red, orange and yellow tones of the falling leaves. Victoria looked at Gerard to resume the conversation after a long silence.

“Your Majesty”, she said, “have the Boltons reported on the matters of the North?”

“All is well in the north”, Gerard replied, smiling. “Soon it will be as if the Hales had never existed”, he added.

Victoria nodded. “The only thing that unsettles me… are the news from the West…”

Gerard grimaced. “There are some rumors that a Saur girl hatched an egg, but no one’s really seen much of the dragon after that. What worries you so much? If we had to lose our nerve every time the small folk whispered a new dragon had been born…”

“I guess I just overreact”, she added, agreeing with him. Her look became cold. “And, anyway, no one can stand against Belerion.”

Gerard smirked discreetly, walking on.

*

Allyson and Isaac were sitting on a bench that very evening, by a groove in the Palace. It was close to a beautiful marble two-tiered fountain. In the remote place, only the rush of the water could be heard, and they stayed in comfortable silence. Allyson looked at Isaac, who stared back at her. He let out a little sigh, and she smiled weakly, taking his hand in hers.

Isaac cleared his throat, taking his hand away softly. “I was practicing alone with your father earlier today”, he said, hesitant. “His sword is unique, and he wields it with great skill.”

Allyson’s eyes became bright with curiosity. “East Thunder?”, she asked. Isaac nodded.

She smiled. “He got it in Erin Tornys, in the temple of lighting… the leader of the Cult of Thunder gave it to him as a gift. So he told me, I was very young to remember.”

Isaac kept nodding, looking at her interested. She went on.

“The sword is said to be a twin blade to West Thunder, the one the man gave to Kate”, Allyson explained.

“Oh, I see”, Isaac replied. “Have you ever been there?”, he asked.

“Yeah… during my childhood we often crossed the Tornys. My father loved it there… he has some good skills with the blade, so he knows a few tricks about fulgomancy”, she said, happily, but then her face dropped and she let out a sad sigh.

“Do you miss the Marshes?”, Isaac asked, noticing she was retreating into herself.

“I just…”, she tried to express herself, with eyes full of longing, “Sylune doesn’t feel like home anymore. I do miss the Marshes, sometimes, but I don’t want to go with Kate there… I guess I have some good memories, of the past, but…”

“But it’s not the same”, Isaac completed, sighing too.

“Yes”, Allyson added, and then stayed silent, looking at the fountain and trying not to betray emotion in her face. “I wonder if it’ll ever be”, she finally confessed, her stare absent.

“Maybe”, Isaac ventured, softly, without much conviction.

Allyson decided not to wallow. She cleared her throat and turned to look at Isaac, trying to cheer up.

“So… hey, I’ve thought… maybe I could tell my father to teach you more about thunder magic and his blade?”

Isaac’s face lit up. “That’d be great, actually! Fulgomancy looks awesome.”

She smiled widely.

 

**Pentos, December 1013 AN**

Ewyn was staring absently at the night sky, leaning on the balcony of Deaton’s mansion that overlooked the Bay of Pentos. She heard some footsteps from behind and realized it was Deaton.

“Isn’t the hour late?”, he said, smirking, looking at her as he went to recline by her side against the cold stone. “And it’s quite cold.”

Ewyn smiled and moved the furs she was wearing as a coat around her upper body. She took off her hood; let the night breeze blow against her long brown hair, now past shoulder-length.

“Sometimes I come here to stargaze”, she explained, “trying to find answers or something. The cold air feels great.”

Deaton kept looking at her, pleased.

She returned the smile, raising an eyebrow and turning her face to look back at the sky over the Strait. “And, anyway, we’ll be warm soon enough.”

Allaris, still the size of a lamb, was flying towards them, and he let out a small contented noise as he landed on the rail. Ewyn smiled and went closer to him, caressing his head carefully on the direction of the scales. Allaris had crystal clear blue eyes, noble like the animal himself, she thought.

Deaton took a step back. Ewyn let out a chuckle. “Come on, you know he’s no Belerion. He never troubles the Pentosi and more often than not helps my former oasis buddies… or so I hear. The Sehari are having a bad time.”

Deaton let out a sigh and got closer to Ewyn and Allaris. The dragon looked curious at the man, in his purple night robes, who was staring back equally perplexed at the beast.

“Scott and him aren’t on the best terms”, Ewyn explained, smiling, as she looked at the shiny scales of the dragon, “but they’ll come around, I’m sure.”

“Oh, I have my doubts”, Deaton replied, teasing her. He looked thoughtful.

“It’s good that he’s so young and independent, because it’d attract a lot of unwanted attention if he were to stay on the mansion…”

“I know”, Ewyn admitted, furrowing her brow. “But,” she said, looking at the horizon, “dragons are meant to soar across the skies. To be free.”

“Freedom is quite a privilege in this world of ours”, Deaton replied, sighing sorrowful as Ewyn’s look saddened.

Allaris led out a low whine.

*

In the oasis, night had fallen too. Derek, Boyd, Laura and Erica were lying down on blankets over the grass, looking at the very same stars, covered by furs each. The night was clear, without a single cloud, and the girls soon left to get a late dinner for the four of them.

“I don’t see why you dislike dragons so much”, Boyd said finally, looking at Derek from his side, curious. “Yesterday would’ve been much harder without Allaris… I even doubt we’d have made it”

Derek sighed. “We would. Dragons are dangerous… I wouldn’t mind if they’d gone extinct last century and we never saw another. I… I have my reasons”, he said, a bit angry, and Boyd knew not to push the issue.

“What about the Saur girl”, Boyd ventured, casually, “are you happy we’re not seeing her anymore?”

Derek kept looking up, unfazed. “I don’t care”, he said. “And it’ll be winter soon, anyway. Not much work around here, at least not for her.”

Boyd nodded, and they stayed silent for a while, after that, looking up at the sky. Boyd looked calm. Derek turned his head slowly, to look at him, and cleared his throat. He finally caved in. “Why did she leave, anyway? Did she have a problem with the group? Was it because of the dragon?”

Boyd smiled discreetly. “She told Laura the people she lived with thought it was too dangerous and that she’d take a break.”

“She’s probably right”, Derek said, nonchalantly.

 

**Sylune, January 1014 AN**

Lydia was sitting in her room, reading and doodling in the corner of one of her books on Astral magic. Her mother knocked on the door and came in, quietly, staying behind her and placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Darling”, she said, softly, “it’s a great day outside. You should go out and stop reading so much… I’m sure you’ve already been through every book in the city!”, she continued, with concern in her voice.

“I couldn’t have”, she replied, unfazed, “because apparently now they ban books...”

Her mother dropped her hand and the smile she was wearing disappeared.

“Young woman, you know some books are better left unread. If you had listened to me when I told you to stay away from… you know who, you wouldn’t even be that interested in censored material!”, she vented, angry.

Lydia didn’t look back at her, but her hand stopped moving the pencil. “Are you done?”, she said.

“You’re too stubborn to admit when you’re wrong”, Natalie blurted out.

Lydia turned to look at her slowly. “I’m sorry, mother”, she said, raising her voice, “how stupid of me! I forgot that if I was wrong, father would come back to life! And Claudia, and Stiles, and the Hales even”, she added, sarcastically, “Because it’s all my fault, always. Wouldn’t that make you happy?!”, Lydia screamed at her.

“You’re an insolent little brat!”, her mother shouted, furious. “I wish you father was here to talk some sense into you.”

“I wish he was here too”, she whispered, softly, suddenly looking down at her hands, which were placed between her legs. She was wrinkling the blue dress she was wearing. She couldn’t bear to see the heartbreak on her mother’s face as she realized what she’d just said.

Her mother soon choked a sob, and turned to leave with a hand covering her mouth and watery eyes. Lydia kept staring blankly at the floor, and she could hear her mother’s cries break when the woman had barely set foot in the corridor.

*

Later that week, Jackson came for a visit Lydia and they sat on her bed. She told him about the tension at home with her mother. She eventually reached her breaking point since the day Belerion destroyed the city, and let it all out, crying helplessly against his shoulder as he comforted her.

“I miss them all so much”, she finally said, in between tears, in a shaky voice. She let out another sob. “Even the ones who are here. I miss you. I miss Allyson. Everyone feels so far away…”

“Let us help you”, he said, kissing her temple softly, sad. “You need to stop hiding yourself…”

Lydia kept crying.

*

Isaac and Chris were sparring within the training grounds of the Palace, and Jackson and Allyson watched from the sides, leaning against the wall. Chris’s blade lit up and produced a small clashing sound whenever it hit something or was struck. Isaac tried to defend himself, but had to take a few step backs to avoid being hit.

They switched blades. Isaac held East Thunder, one of the twin Argent blades. It was a long sword, whose blade was bisected in the middle, and one of the two halves was a bit smaller and less broad than the other. If one inspected them closely, in the space in between, small sparks occasionally jumped from one half to the other.

The fight resumed as Isaac took the sword and Chris took Isaac’s. They began the dance. Isaac was performing good, forcing Chris to step back much like he had before. Chris dodged Isaac and hit him bluntly on his side, making him wince, but Isaac recovered before Chris could strike him again. Their swords met when both charged forward, and Isaac grimaced as he tried to concentrate. A bolt of electricity ran through the blade and pushed Chris backwards, breaking the tie, and making him almost fall from the impact. Chris managed to steady himself by moving his arm, but it was clear Isaac had got him.

“Your father’s been training him well”, Jackson admitted, impressed. He was almost pouting, folding his arms.

Allyson smiled. “Yeah. He’s a natural for thunder.”

He smiled back at her briefly, but when silence followed them he looked pensive.

“So, Allyson… I talked to Lydia yesterday”, he admitted, looking concerned.

Allyson jerked her head in his direction quickly, looking worried. “How is she?”, she asked promptly. “She hasn’t let me visit in ages…”, she added, sighing.

“She cried”, he replied, simply. “But I think that’s better than not saying anything at all…”, he confessed, looking unsure.

“Maybe”, Allyson said, equally hesitant. “Do you think she would let me talk to her?”, she ventured, getting closer into his personal space, taking his forearms in her hands. Her eyes were hopeful.

“I’ll do what I can”, he offered, tilting his head. She nodded.

Isaac was panting, lying on the earth and prodded up on his elbows when Allyson looked back at the training grounds. He was holding the sword, which was still glowing. Chris was some feet away, facing him, breathing heavily as well. He was kneeling and resting his forearm on his thigh. His sword was lying by his side, on the ground. He’d been disarmed.

“Did you see that?”, Isaac shouted at them, gleeful.

Jackson and Allyson looked at each other in surprise.

“Oops”, she said.

 

**Pentos, June 1014 AN**

Ewyn and Scott were strolling in one of Deaton’s own training grounds in the back of the mansion. The grounds were dusty by the side of the stables, where the boy studied with Deaton. He had been learning a lot from him about animal care and even some rudimentary surgery. Scott had always loved animals, and now he had the chance to pursue his interests. Allaris, however, was another matter entirely and their relationship was complex. The dragon was with them that evening.

Allaris let out a small roar and Scott grimaced. The dragon whined and took a step back, looking offended. Ewyn went to his side and petted the beast’s nape, giggling. When Allaris sat on the ground with his wings folded, Ewyn could reach his head without having to stand on the tip of her toes or crouch, with the exact height. The beast seemed contented.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about returning to help the mercenaries”, Ewyn said, looking absently at Allaris. “I think this little one misses me. And it’s not like anything’s gonna happen to me now… he’ll protect me.”

Scott looked confused. “Oh”, he said, realizing what she was talking about, “But what about you? Do you miss them? It’s been a whole year…”

Ewyn looked hesitant. She sighed. “I don’t know if I miss them... the leaders appreciated my work. As for the fighters and other healers… it’d be nice to see them. I’m not sure everyone misses me, though”, she confessed, scratching the back of her hair with her eyebrows raised.

Scott smirked. “You wanted someone in particular to miss you?”

Ewyn rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Scotty.”

Allaris let out a playful roar, amused.

*

“Ewyn’s been talking about returning to the oasis”, Scott said, as he was having dinner alone with her mother by the window. They were on the second floor of the mansion and the room overlooked only a deserted Pentosi street in the dead of night.

Melissa frowned as she chewed on her food. “I thought we talked her out of it last year”, she said, still chewing, “even if she brought a souvenir”, she finished, drinking wine to wash down the food.

Scott smiled. “Maybe she has reasons to return”, he added, cryptically.

Melissa raised an eyebrow.

“She won’t go on long missions anymore, though, she promised me. At least for now.”

Melissa sighed in relief. “Don’t even think for a second of going after her. She may be a free spirit but you’re still my son”, she added, staring at him and pointing at him with a fork.

Scott let out a chuckle. “I have no interest in going after the Sehari.”

Melissa smiled. “Good. And I bet you have your eyes after another girl, isn’t that so?”, she ventured, raising her eyebrows. “You don’t need to hide it so much, Deaton already knows... he returns tomorrow, by the way, with John. They’ve been away in the Dark Lands for too long”, she ranted cheerfully, distracting his son from her intrusion.

“Mom!”, Scott said, a bit too sudden, blushing.

*

In the end, that year Ewyn returned briefly during June to help the first mercenaries be in perfect shape, to strike at the Sehari hideouts and resist the possible raids. She was greeted by Laura, Erica and Boyd warmly.

Derek was looking at them from the distance, from where he was sitting in the grass. He thought about going to see her and catch up, but when he was about to go, he saw Allaris landing next to her and he found himself unable to. He stood there for a few seconds, hesitant, and the moment had passed. He’d been around the dragon before, but it was as if he couldn’t decide to move. Derek did the best to push the issue out of his mind, going away for a walk.

Ewyn felt her heart drop when she didn’t see him coming that night. She didn’t know why it bothered her so much, but it saddened her that he didn’t care enough to greet her after a whole year. She felt like she probably wasn’t missed at all. Not by whom she cared about, anyway.

The following days, when they crossed paths, they never exchanged anything else than a cold “Hello”, a silent nod of acknowledgement or a blank expression. Derek felt frustrated, and Ewyn felt worse with each passing day.

Eventually, one day, Ewyn stopped coming. And when she did, Derek felt a little hollower inside. 

 

**Dragon’s End, July 1015 AN**

Behind the Temple of Bones, within an old arena, Stuart and Parrish were fighting against each other, training. The sun was already low, dying the sky of Dragon’s End with purple and red. The place had been inoperative for centuries. It was formerly used to keep war prisoners and incarcerate dragons before they were made fight among themselves or slain. The Nyctians hadn’t battled dragons in a long time, but it still served as a reminder of what they’d been through in their history. And what they stood for.

Now, it was mostly used for the death knights to combat and train. Stuart was on his way to becoming one, giving all he had every day to grow stronger, following the Dark Sister’s directions. Parrish often trained with him and the other death knights, and other times he studied pyromancy quietly. Stuart’s training wasn’t completely physical either; he had to study a lot of ancient texts in Old Dynic. Texts that had been written thousands of years ago, on the spells he would learn to master, eventually; all to achieve his ultimate goal, always on the front of his mind.

Stuart charged into Parrish, who was standing still in the middle of the arena, casting a spell with his eyes closed. Before he could reach him, he realized Parrish was conjuring flames. They danced around his hand and the hilt of his sword. The fire then climbed the blade as he pointed it in Stuart’s direction. Parrish finally opened his eyes and the energy was released in a jet towards the Dark Prince.

Stuart stopped suddenly, and held his sword in the air with both hands, closing his own eyes as the jet of magical fire was bisected by his blade, leaving him unscathed in the middle but pushing him backwards several feet. When he opened them, Parrish let his sword on the ground and stretched. Stuart smiled.

“That was amazing. Any other sword wouldn’t have resisted the spell”, he shouted, getting closer to Parrish.

Parrish smirked. “One does his best.”

Stuart squeezed his shoulder when he got around him, smirking too. “I did well to keep you around.”

Maybe Parrish blushed, but his cheeks were already heated from the fire.

*

Several hours later, when it was already dark, Stuart and Parrish were sitting on one of the lower tears, overlooking the silent, empty arena. They felt the night breeze of the mountains, hotter in Dragon’s End but still cooler than the thick air of the coppery, red evenings. 

“Last year I thought it was just rumors”, Stuart said, still catching his breath from his strenuous training session, “but I’ve been hearing about the new dragon this year too.”

“The so-called,” Parrish said, quickly, also breathless “Allaris”, he finished.

“And a little Holy Mage who befriended him”, Stuart added, spitting on the ground.

“Do you think it’s a serious matter?”, Parrish asked, raising an eyebrow and looking at him.

Stuart chuckled joylessly. “Maybe it will give the usurper a headache or two”, he began saying, “but to us, it makes no difference at all. When the day comes everyone who interferes will face the same fate”, he went on, certain.

“When the day comes”, Parrish echoed, shaking off sweat from below his nose and looking at the distance. He let out a deep breath.

 

**Sylune, September 1015 AN**

King Gerard sat on the throne easily as sir Christopher walked towards him in the rebuilt Throne Room. By his side, in a smaller chair, Princess Allyson was sitting as well. When the knight knelt, the Princess stood and went to hug her father, who was already rising. Soon Lord Jackson Whittemore entered the room as well.

The King left for a stroll with Lord Whittemore as Chris went with his daughter. She was wearing a beautiful green dress, one she didn’t quite felt herself at ease into. It showed. He squeezed her shoulder as they walked, pacing quietly.

“Isaac beat Matt up today during the match”, he said, casually, “you should’ve seen him”, he added, showing a small smile.

Allyson’s face lit up. “That’s wonderful”, she said. “But what is Matt doing here?”, she added, slightly furrowing her brow.

“Your aunt is visiting the capital for the month”, he pointed, not as cheerful.

“Oh”, Allyson replied, faking a smile. His father smiled softly.

“Don’t take her teasing seriously. Remember we’re all family and we actually love each other.”

She let out a small laugh. “She really has weird ways of showing it.”

 

**Sylune, June 1016 AN**

Lydia and Jackson were lying on his bed, next to each other. They were panting, with only a thin sheet of silk lying over their naked bodies.

“That was”, he said, with his breathing ragged, “amazing.”

She smiled. “I always am”, she replied, smugly.

He huffed, laughing. “I wish we were still betrothed. Though now that the King”, he added, and tried to imitate Gerard’s voice “would be pleased if the Princess and the future Prince spent more time together”, overdoing it a little, “I admit it has more thrill to it.”

Lydia let out a giggle, rolling on her side of the bed to face him and grab his arm. He also turned, resting his head on his arm, with his elbow digging into the mattress, to look at her fondly. “I wonder why we ever stopped… before, you know.”

A hint of sadness crossed her eyes but it soon vanished. Instead she spoke, proudly, “I know. You couldn’t take my interest in”, she confessed, whispering to mock him, because they were alone, “dark magic.”

He frowned.

“Which I wanted to talk to you about, anyway”, she said, “because I’m going to read black magic and blood magic books anyway, regardless of what the King says”, she continued, too gleefully.

“Sure, it was the books you were interested in”, he said, scoffing.

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t make me remember _exactly_ why we stopped seeing each other”, she retaliated, daring him.

He looked and her and then looked away, sighing, defeated.

“There are some Old Draconic books in the library…”, she went on, trying not to derail the topic of conversation. “I never got around to reading them… I was going to look at them with Stiles”, she said, sighing sadly.

“Stiles…”, Jackson said, pondering the word. “I guess the kid wasn’t so bad after all.”

She squinted her eyes, leaning back against the headboard. “I’m going to let that slip because I genuinely believe you can’t be more sensitive.”

“Hey!”, he replied, strangely looking offended.

“Will you get them or not?”, she spat out, looking at him directly.

He averted her gaze and sighed again. “Fine.”

“Good”, she said, smugly. “Harris will provide.”

*

“What?!”, Lydia said, standing in the middle of her room and looking furious, with pure fire in her eyes. There were books on the ground. “You come to my home to tell me what I can and can’t do? Is this how the Princess does things now?”

Allyson was standing close to her, gritting her teeth. She ran a hand through her hair quickly and let out a deep breath to calm herself. “Lydia, don’t speak nonsense!”, she said, not very calm at all, “I’m just telling things for what they are, for your own sake, can’t you see that?”, she continued, widening her eyes.

Lydia cocked her head, defiant.

Allyson moved her hands in the air as she spoke. “Look, you’ve been doing so well this year, since everything happened”, she said, with a softer tone. “I don’t even care what you and Jackson do!”, she dropped, suddenly; “but why would you start reading from the Nyctians again after everything that happened. How much evidence do you need to see you made a mistake with Stuart? You’re in denial!”. She ended up shouting.

Lydia bit her tongue, fuming. “It has nothing to do with him!”, she spat out, violently. “Why do you ignore the fact that I like dark magic myself!”, she shouted at her friend, who stared back at her wide-eyed.

“What do you mean?”, Allyson said, lowly, looking worried.

Lydia let out a sarcastic laugh “You never listen”, she said, biting her lip. “My father’s family had books about the subject too!”, she continued saying. “My grandmother read some of it to me when we were little”, she explained, her eyes giving sadness along with her anger.

“She was never superstitious and they always supported freedom of practice! And now it’s like they didn’t even exist”, she said, on the verge of tears. “My mother won’t give me any answers. She doesn’t talk about father or about her”, she said, bringing her hands to her eyes to wipe the wetness away.

“Why does she act like I never had a grandmother?”, Lydia shrieked, now sobbing, and Allyson stepped forwards to embrace her.

“I’m sorry”, she said softly, cradling Lydia’s head in the crook of her neck, petting her strawberry blond hair slowly. “I didn’t know there were family affairs behind this.”

Lydia stopped crying soon, but still held on tight to her warm body, inhaling the sweet scent of her long, dark hair. “I don’t…”, she said, hesitant, choking a sob, but then continued, “I don’t want it to be as if they never existed”, she confessed, finally, breathing deeply.

Allyson stayed in place, holding her and mumbling comforting words in her ear.

She didn’t say anything else. She actually thought that, sometimes, the world would better if some people had never existed.

 

**Pentos, July 1016 AN**

Scott, Kira and Ewyn were having lunch alone by the balcony during a sunny afternoon. Kira and Scott were bickering about something while Ewyn stared at them absently.

“What?”, Kira said, realizing she was being observed, blushing.

“Nothing”, Ewyn said, dismissing her with her hand, “you guys are adorable, that’s all.”

Kira blushed even harder, if that was possible. Scott was also wearing red cheeks with a sheepish smile. “Shut up…”, he told Ewyn softly.

Ewyn smiled satisfied and leaned back on her chair, stretching and heating her body under the rays of the sun.

“Sir John and Deaton have left again”, Scott brought up, changing the subject. “Are you going to do anything for the summer?, he asked.

She smiled. “I was thinking about going on one of the expeditions this year, actually. I didn’t do anything last year and I got bored to death”, she said, getting closer to the table, and pointing at him with a finger, “plus I heard they’re going to need reinforcements this time.”

“So I heard”, Scott said, nodding. “I hope the city guard doesn’t have to intervene.”

“We’ll do just fine”, Ewyn said, winking. “My little Allaris has grown so much! I’m hoping I can see him again soon.”

Scott smiled at her. “He sure grows fast.”

Ewyn felt happy about the dragon she had hatched years ago. Kira was staring at the both of them intermittently, because she was still afraid of the beast, shying away from him whenever he came to visit Ewyn. Scott had tried to ease her into it, but it was no use. He cleared her throat.

“So, Kira”, Ewyn said, changing the subject. “I want to know more about you. Are you Pentosi? I never asked.”

She denied with her head, looking at him with bright eyes. “Deaton told me I was born in Yith. He said my mother was a Red Priestess who disappeared, and they sold me with other orphans to the Pentosi.”

Ewyn nodded, listening intently. Scott half-embraced her, comforting her and squeezing her arm her softly.

“But I don’t remember any of that!”, she added, suddenly, to avoid creating an awkward situation. “I just feel as if I were from Pentos myself. Deaton has always treated me right, like I was home. They don’t do that to all the house servants… well, slaves”, she finished, sighing.

Ewyn nodded, showing sadness on her eyes. “Yeah…”

“But, anyway, let’s talk about something happier”, Scott said. “Tell Ewyn about what happened in the market today”, he added, smirking at Kira.

Kira let out a lively chuckle.

**Pentos, November 1016 AN**

West of the northern oasis, not very far from the mercenary base of operations and camp, a violent fight was taking place under the full moon, in the desert. The Sehari had been insistent for that summer season and well into fall, having confronted them for several months intermittently. The mercenary party had attacked them at their camp, hidden between dunes, so there were tents and bonfires scattered all around the place.

“Down!”, Ewyn screamed, from afar, as Allaris flew close to the ground, going past Erica and Boyd, whose faces were then buried deep in the sand. He charged against a few mercenaries, as Erica got up and spat the grains, grimacing. Laura and Derek appeared behind him. Derek put his hand over Boyd’s shoulder and Laura looked at Erica, grinning. Erica grimaced. “She could’ve warned us earlier”, she said upset, mumbling some curse.

Laura giggled. “Whatever, Allaris is so much more hyped when she’s around. The dragon must think she’s the mother or something”, she said, contented at the sight.

Boyd smiled at that. He was still shaking sand off his legs. “In a way, she is”, he added, happy.

Derek looked at the distance where Ewyn was, riding Allaris so close to the ground the dragon’s wings left trails on the sand around him. The savages were running in every direction, disperse, trying to get away from it before it breathed flame. The dragon was already the size of a horse. It had been the best thing that could’ve happened to the party, even if as a Syn Derek didn’t particularly appreciate the animal… and wouldn’t admit it out loud.

*

Later that night, after they had returned to the oasis and everyone had eaten and settled down, Ewyn and Laura sat by the bonfire on a big log. Allaris was sleeping, coiled around himself and protected by the shield of its own membranous wings, on the sands in front of them and beyond the fire.

“We’ve had a pretty long summer”, Ewyn conversed, “and apparently so have the Searing Peoples”, she added, looking at Laura. “Why do you think that is?”, she asked her, raising her eyebrows expectantly.

Laura took her eyes off the flames to look at her. “Well, as you know, the slaver army isn’t really that strong, even if they’re the official defense of Pentos…”, she explained, raising an eyebrow. “There’s also that one”, Laura said, taking a stick from the ground she had been drawing in the sand with, and pointing at the sleeping form of Allaris.

Ewyn bit her cheek from the inside as she turned to look at her dragon too. “They’re angry I got the egg, you’re saying, and they’re taking advantage of the fact Pentosi city guard is at its lowest?”, she checked, curiously.

Laura nodded as she looked back at her. “Yes. A slave army isn’t a good idea, if you ask me. I had some military experience, back in the North. The first thing you need to have good soldiers is motivation”, she said, as she held the stick with both hands. “The Great Pentosi?”, she added, raising an eyebrow and breaking it in half, “they inspire no loyalty on the people the enslave – just fear”.

Ewyn’s look saddened as she sighed. “Yeah…”

“It’s going to blow up in their faces”, Laura added, furrowing her brow. “If we or your dragon weren’t around, all that would stand between the mighty Walls and the desert is a regiment of ill-trained, miserable children.”

“They don’t train their own city guard well?”, Ewyn inquired, raising an eyebrow.

“Not nearly as good as they think”, Laura replied, smiling and showing her teeth as she flipped her hair around to make a ponytail.

Ewyn heard soft steps and both women looked back, where Derek was arriving from Laura’s side and hesitating, looking at the both of them, before sitting on her log.

“Hey, bro”, she said, smiling and getting up, “I was just about to leave. Need my beauty sleep. Bye”, she blurted, quickly, winking her eye at him as she finished the ponytail. She left him in shock as she walked past him.

Derek opened his mouth to say something but shut up, and he and Ewyn simply locked their gazes. The logs crackled some feet away, and the flames casted shadows over their faces and bodies in the brightly moonlit night. He simply stared, not knowing what to say. Ewyn looked at him too, still processing Laura’s sudden flight. She averted her gaze, and then cleared her throat. She looked back at him, who was sitting with his elbows on his knees, looking at the sand between his feet intently.

“So, um”, she began, hesitant. “Hey?”, she ventured. “Your sister fights really well. She told me you had military experience in the North?”, she blabbed, nervous and quick.

Derek didn’t respond for a second, but then he looked straight into Ewyn’s eyes, piercing her with his undecipherable mixture of green and grey.

“Why didn’t you come last year?”, he blurted out, sounding something between hurt and angry.

Ewyn raised her eyebrows, in surprise, but then frowned. “Did I have to?”, she said in a high pitch, outraged.

“I thought you priests committed to your vows”, he replied lowly, looking away.

Ewyn bit her lip. “You did just fine!”, she whined, flailing her arms from where she was sitting, looking at the horizon too. “You didn’t need me. I have a life.”

Derek huffed. “I didn’t say we needed you”, he replied, roughly, “but your help would’ve been useful, since Allaris only ever pays attention to you!”, he added, pointing at the dragon with his hand.

Ewyn’s jaw dropped open. “Now this is about the dragon? Can you not be a walking stereotype and give the poor creature a break?”, she raised her tone, angry. “Now I remember why I didn’t come”, she blurted, scoffing. 

Derek looked back at her quickly, and a hint of betrayal crossed his eyes before all his anger vanished and a sad expression settled in. Ewyn was taken aback, since she wasn’t expecting that reaction at all.

“I should go”, he said, pressing his palms to the log to stand up.

“Wait!”, she yelped, getting up. “It’s just…”, she hesitated, with wide eyes.

“Why do you even care?”, she finally said, “Two years ago you didn’t even greet me when I came here. You ignored me this year too. And now you come to insult me? I don’t get you”, she said, dropping her arms, defeated, sighing.

“I didn’t mean to insult”, he said, rubbing his hands over his eyes, getting up too. “I just wanted to…”, he began, opening his eyes, with his hands in the air.

“Wait, why do you get to play victim here? You didn’t tell me anything either!”, he said, raising his tone and pointing at her, sounding betrayed.

She let out a chuckle. “Cut it out. For Light’s sake. Is this your way to say you’ve missed me?”, she shouted with a chuckle.

Derek took a step back, grimacing and looking confused. She had bent down, laughing hard, and took some seconds to stand up straight again, looking at him with watery eyes. Derek stared at them, raising his eyebrows.

“I wanted to!”, she admitted, loudly, “but you kept glowering and giving me the stink eye. Why are you such a sour wolf?”, she added

“…I just didn’t want to bother you”, she finished, in a softer tone.

Derek was agape, looking at her. Her cheeks were flushing from her laugh, and her white shirt was tight to her skin and breasts. He tried to focus on her eyes.

“You’re… not a bother”, he rasped, clearing his throat and speaking low. “Well, not all of the time”, he added, a small smirk showing on his face. He looked at the ground, and Ewyn thought he could see a small blush in his perfectly sculpted cheekbones.

“For Light’s sake”, she said again, smiling now, “can’t you give me one non-backhanded compliment?”

He looked down at her, and they locked gazes again. Ewyn took a step forward, and then stayed in place, her smile disappearing as she was left with a soft expression, expectant. Derek let out a soft sigh and also took a small step forward, and they were so close now that she could feel his breath. All Derek could feel was her heartbeat.

“NIGHT ATTACK!”, they heard Erica shout from the distance, as Allaris let out a loud shriek and took off towards the sky.

Ewyn pressed her palms to her face and Derek grunted, rolling his eyes and tilting his head back. Then, they both looked sideways, beyond the pond. Another tribe of Sehari, probably angry at the other one’s defeat, was coming and charging towards them.

“Long night”, Ewyn sighed.

She took hold of the knife in her belt, making it emit a purple light. She patted Derek on his strong back with her other hand. “Are we cool, then?”, she asked, casually, ready to leave.

Derek was also looking at the distance, where the first fights had already begun.

“Yeah”, he rasped, absently, “Now, don’t laze around”, he added, grinning, as his eyes flashed blue and he leaped forward, shifting.

 

**Dragon’s End, December 1016 AN**

Before the Temple of Bones, the Nyctians were congregated around Parrish and Stuart, who were pacing around in the training grounds. A man was knelt by them, with his hands behind his back and his face on a big stone, shaking and with his eyes closed, mumbling something unintelligible.

Stuart had ascended in the ranks and was now directly under the wing of the Dark Sister. He’d soon be given a Death Knight armor and become a true warrior of Death. For now, he was simply wearing a dark shirt and vest, with pants instead of the common Nyctian robes that he didn’t quite like wearing. Parrish was dressed in his flame armor. He had also became great among the pyromancers, and as a friend of Stuart, was among the Dark Sister’s elite too. He nodded at Stuart, who was waiting for his confirmation.

“Let this serve as a warning”, Stuart said coldly, as he wielded Soul Reaver and put it high in the air, standing at the side of the knelt man. “To anyone who betrays Nyx”, he rasped, as he let the blade fall down with all his strength, severing the man’s head off.

It fell to the ground as everyone fell silent around them, only the heavy breathing of Stuart sounding in the expanse before the temple. The Dark Sister, who was high in the Temple, by the statue of a sphinx, smiled behind her hood.

Stuart kept looking at the edge of his blade with a blank expression, which was dripping blood to the ground along with the neck of the executed man. He let out a deep sigh and pulled the sword closer, sticking it to the ground. He licked his upper lip quickly.

“This man,”, he announced, pointing at the fallen head and shouting to the crowd, “was a double agent from the Marshes”, he continued, simply.

“Was”, he noted in a low voice, smiling, as the people of the crowd began whispering among themselves and resuming their conversations.

“May Death take its toll”, Parrish replied, solemnly, from his friend’s side.

“May Death take its toll!”, every acolyte there recited, in a single voice.

 *

Stuart was cleaning his blade, bending low as Parrish leaned against one of the Temple’s outer walls, looking at the peak of Raszira’s rest in the distance. The sun was already setting.

“It still surprises me when anyone’s dumb enough to do that”, Stuart said, as he went on with his endeavor.

Parrish smiled. “The Scaled will have to try harder”, he replied, looking at his fellow Nyctian.

Stuart smirked. “Rumors die within these mountains”, he concluded.

They stayed in silence for a bit, until Stuart was done, then they decided to return to their quarters for dinner, with the Dark Sister. As they were walking, Parrish spoke again.

“On our own spies, though”, he added, “Have you heard about Pentos?”

Stuart looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “Our dragon friend and the Searing nomads?”

Parrish nodded. “This year they’ve been extremely violent, in spite of Allaris and her master. I wonder if they’ll be able to keep up next summer…”

Stuart laughed darkly. “We’ll see”, he rasped, as Parrish stepped aside and he crossed the threshold before him.

*

That night, after they had dinner and Stuart was left alone with the Dark Sister, she said something that would shape the path he walked.

“Stuart, you’ve become a mighty death knight”, she said. “Fierce and determinate”, she added slowly, “but to truly master life and death, do you know what the two ultimate tasks are?”, she asked, raising her intonation.

Stuart raised his eyebrows. He denied with his head. “I’ve heard only you and few others here have passed the test”, he replied.

She nodded.

“Never forget this”, she explained, calmly. “You must bring someone back to life to make them die, and you must kill someone to make them live.”

Stuart tilted his head, perplexed at the riddle. The Dark Sister walked away.

*

When Stuart undressed for bed that night, he remembered Lydia briefly as he took off his bracelet, the one that she had given him years ago. He barely remembered his life in Sylune. It felt lifetimes away, and he didn’t want to dwell on it; he rarely did. When he looked in the mirror, though, he saw his own tired eyes. His brother’s eyes.  

The sad face of a heart-broken Stiles stared back at him. He had come to feel his brother didn’t die that night when he fell to the river, and that he was waiting for him to take him back home. To take both of them back home, where they belonged.

“I haven’t given up yet. I’ll find you, brother”, Stuart whispered, clenching his jaw as he caressed his own cheek, softly.


	4. Voices from the North

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years keep going by, but the North still remembers. Lydia discovers the truth about Belerion, and unlikely alliances form when a new assassination has an unexpected witness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New update!

**The Deep North, January 1017 AN**

North of the Holy Kingdom, where the permafrost took over and everything was covered in white, a wolf howled at the full moon by the cliffs. Farther down, the waves crashed against the cold rocks. The wolf, flashing her eyes yellow, turned around and ran through the snow to get inland. She crossed hills and frozen rivers under the stars, alone.

The animal eventually found a cave on the hillside of a small mountain, stopping its race briefly to rest as she breathed heavily. There was a big stone in the entrance, where an ancient carved rune lit blue as the animal advanced calmly past by it, looking at it but not stopping. She went into the cave, which was completely covered in blue ice, sometimes transparent and sometimes more opaque and shiny.

After a short tunnel there was a big stone chamber. The wolf stopped and behind her there was no movement. The ground was filled by a soft bed of snow only distorted by the paw marks she had left behind. She looked forwards, at the center of the chamber. There was a small mound of crystalline ice with the silvery handle of a sword on top. It looked out of place. On the top of the cave there was a small opening in the crust of ice and rock, which let the moonlight shower over the mound and the silver shine eerily but beautifully. The wolf’s eyes fixed on it, mesmerized, remembering and traveling to another time and place.

A loud roar from the side of the room made the wolf’s attention come back to the present. An enormous saber-toothed cat appeared, with fur as white as the snow but with black stripes all over his body. Its pale blue eyes stared back at the wolf’s yellow ones, which flashed defiant as she growled. The albino beast advanced, tentatively circling around her. She turned around slowly, following it intently with her head and the utmost attention.

The feline pounced on her, and she dodged, moving to her side and burying her paws in the snow. She opened her mouth to show her fangs and growled again, attacking now.

They managed to graze and wound each other until the wolf went behind the mound. The feline followed, angered at the provocation, but was blinded by the moonlight reflection on the silver when it was approaching the wolf. She took advantage of the situation and took a leap to land over the surprised animal, biting at its neck and severing its carotid artery. Blood sprayed everywhere as she released the limp prey from her snout. It fell on the snow, lifeless, dying it with pink.

The wolf stayed there for a moment, with its ribcage heaving, staring at the nothingness, licking the blood from her fangs. Then several runes in the ceiling lit, inscriptions that read in the Old Tongue of the north. The wolf looked up at them, closing its snout before howling. When the eerie blue glow vanished, the wolf shifted back to her human form.

Cora Hale was standing by the mound, naked and she herself covered in a blue glow. It shielded her from the cold, and she wasn’t shivering or getting goose bumps from standing in the snow. Hypothermia was not a risk for her.

She wiped some of the blood from her mouth, spreading it and getting her hand dirty. She looked at the ceiling, with the same blank expression, and read the inscriptions. She then casted an ice spell that created a thin sheet of ice on her hand, sharp as a blade. She used the cold tool to cut through her palm, and started bleeding. She then took a step towards the mound.

It started glowing with a strong blue light from beneath the ice as she threw the spike away and her blood dripped slowly over the ancient ice of the cave. She grabbed the silvery hilt, hiding the shine of the metal with her dark, red blood, which tainted it. She closed her eyes and looked up at the moonlight, bathing in it.

She recited some words in the Old Tongue and the glow became stronger, spreading to the hilt between her hands. Her messy hair was blown by a glacial wind and she felt a shiver as the spell completed. The mound of ice shattered almost entirely, leaving her standing on a very smooth surface of ice and holding the gray handle. Attached to it remained a sharp, thin layer of the ice with a pointy edge and a dark, intense blue glow.

Cora was holding a magical, legendary sword called Ragnar’s Tear that hadn’t been found by Syns in the north for a thousand years.

The stories spoke of a hero, ages ago, who lost his loved one in a fight against the Scaled. When he returned home, in the Deep North, he mourned his lover by destroying his sword. He then let a single tear fall, which froze and made a whole new blade with the hilt of his broken one. He then left the cave and it was believed that only the strongest of Syn warriors would one day be able to retrieve it. Cora had been told the story as a child, and had been wandering the Dark Lands for years since the fire, studying the ancient runes and searching for the places of legend.

As she held the sword and felt its cold energy, the last of Ragnar’s might, her blank expression gave place to a smile of satisfaction. She finally opened her eyes.

**Pentos, June 1017 AN**

John, Deaton and Scott were chatting in the back of Deaton’s mansion when Kira irrupted between the guards, stumbling upon everyone, kicking dust away in every direction as she tried to reach for Scott. She did and fell into his arms. She looked up at him with glassy eyes. He was in shock and raised his eyebrows, and she started crying against his chest. Scott soothed her, holding her head close to his heart as he looked apologetically at both men. The then kissed her dark hair.

“Hey, Kira, what’s happened? I’m here”, he whispered in her ear, softly.

“They”, Kira replied, looking up at him and sobbing, “they crucified another slave in the market today… he didn’t want to go to the Searing front! And now what will happen to his wife and children…”, she said, more agitated with each word. Then she started crying louder again.

Deaton and John’s expressions saddened as they looked at Scott, who simply held her tighter, sighing deeply.

“I’m sorry”, he offered, sorrowful. “It can’t be like this forever… all this pain and suffering every day”, he added, as Kira began to calm down. Scott looked at John, with a hint of fear in his eyes.

John’s face softened and he nodded. “You’re right… it can’t”, he said, looking at him, biting his lip in frustration. “And summer is already here…”  

Deaton raised his eyebrows, nodding and letting out a deep breath. “And with it, they will finish what they left behind last year…”

*

In the Searing front, not far from the oasis, Derek was lying on the sand unconscious. He’d been poisoned by wolfsbane; apparently the savages, or at least their crones and witches, had learnt a thing or two about the Syn weaknesses during the years. Ewyn ran towards him and leaned over his limp body, straddling him. The crossed her hands over him, where his vest was shredded, filled with scratches that exposed bare skin. She pressed over his chest and casted a healing spell. He arched his head back, grunting, still unconscious, as a bright green light appeared below Ewyn’s hands. She added more pressure. Worry appeared in her eyes as she saw it wasn’t being enough.

“Sorry. This is going to take a bit more than a spell…”, she mumbled to herself, and she clenched one of her hands in a fist, shutting her eyes tight. She was already throwing the punch when Derek’s eyes opened wide and he stopped her an inch before she hit his face.

They kept looking at each other reverently for a moment until they heard an explosion. They came out of their trance as Ewyn relaxed her fist and got up. She offered her hand to Derek to get up, and he took it. She smirked and he returned a small smile. They stood next to each other as Ewyn put her hands on her hips, looking at the distance. Allaris was already charring the most adventurous Sehari, the ones who felt like approaching too close.

“You never lose a chance to punch me in the face”, Derek noted, still smiling, “right?”.

Ewyn rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help the smile that drew itself in her face. “You’re welcome”, she said, smugly, “And you don’t ever forget, do you?”, she asked rhetorically; “I don’t buy every time you say you were pushed and casually make me fall into the sand face-first was accidental”, she added, raising an eyebrow.

Derek gaped, faking offense. “What are you insinuating?”, he said.

She smirked again.

Laura appeared with Erica in the distance, riding a single horse, from the oasis. “It was high time the lizard showed up!”, Erica shouted at them from the distance.

“Move your asses!”, Laura commanded, holding the reins in her hands, “we have to make them retreat before dawn!”, she added loudly, and then the horse left, riding towards the front.   

Ewyn squinted her eyes.

 

**Sylune, August 1017 AN**

Lydia was in the hallway when she greeted Allyson and they left for a stroll in the gardens. The Martin heir was wearing a blue dress; and the Princess was wearing one of her green Scaled dresses. She, though, refused to wear earrings. They had been talking about the last council that took place, some weeks before, and how Lydia was tired of Ethan’s insinuations. Allyson was sympathetic.

Lydia was wearing a serious expression and after some long silence she stopped, looking at green bushes, bathed in the afternoon warmth. “Ally... there’s something I must tell you about”, she said, apprehensive.

Allyson raised an eyebrow. “Is it bad?”

“You must promise you’ll not tell anyone, not even your father”, she added, lowering her tone of voice and grabbing her hand. Allyson looked concerned as she nodded.

“Do you remember the Old Draconic books I told you about, from the library?”, she inquired, looking at her.

Allyson nodded. “Yeah… I didn’t tell anyone about those either. What is it?”, she asked, curious.

Lydia sighed. “I’ve read all about Aeron VII. One of the books has a copy of the spell his Red Sorceress used on the dragon. I’ve read it all about Nessaria’s devastation”, she said, as Allyson kept nodding for her to go on.

“Allyson, it’s exactly the same as now”, Lydia said, emphatically. “It all went down with Belerion as it went a thousand years ago.”

Allyson bit her lip. “Where are you going with this?”

Lydia squeezed her hand. “Just tell me one thing”, she said, calmly, “Have you ever seen a red orb?”, she asked, and pulled a drawing of the Blood Orb in an old worn paper from her pocket. She had taken the page from Aeron’s book.

Allyson took the paper and furrowed her brow as he looked back up at Lydia. “This actually reminds me of an antique I saw in Marsh Cape a few years ago. It belonged to Kate, I think. I haven’t seen it since…”

Lydia nodded, and stepped closer to her friend. “Allyson, there’s no easy way to say this. I think your family”, she said, hesitating for a second when Allyson’s look changed to surprise, “has something to do with Belerion’s devastation”, she concluded, and kept holding her gaze.

Allyson swallowed. “Lydia, what you talking about…?”, she said, her eyes wide.

“Everything fits”, she blurted, her voice a bit more acute than usual, “your grandfather has ended up in the Throne of Ewyn. You overheard the Boltons allied with him and voted for you to marry Stuart, and when that didn’t happen, everything went down”, she ranted, as Allyson gaped.

“Is this…”, Allyson said, averting her gaze and letting go of her hands, and then looked back at her, licking her lips nervously, “Are you still in denial about Stuart, Lydia? After all these years?!”, she spat out, raising her tone.

Lydia’s eyes went wide. “No!”, she replied, outraged. “Listen to me, Allyson. Stuart didn’t even speak Old Draconic. And why would he do such a thing?”, she added, as Allyson took a step back.

“Lydia”, Allyson said, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know and I don’t care why he did such a thing. But I won’t let you delude yourself and insult my family. They aren’t murderers!”, she said, clenching her fist in the air and moving her arm away.

“Allyson!”, Lydia said, angry. “You’re my best friend! Do you think this is easy for me?”, she added, biting her lip too. “I thought you’d at least have a little trust in me!”, she spat out.

“Yeah…”, Allyson said, smiling sarcastically, “yeah, you’re my best friend, that’s why I’ll let go of the fact that what you’re saying constitutes treason”, she added, raising her voice.

Lydia gaped as Allyson turned to leave. When she began to walk away, Lydia spoke again, desperate, and Allyson stopped without looking back at her.

“Allyson”, she said, sorrowful. “I’m not insane”, she added, “but I think there’s something wrong with all of this. And if it’s true”, she continued, swallowing loudly, “whoever is controlling Belerion will eventually lose control over the spell. Blood magic comes with a price”, she concluded, and the words echoed in the empty garden, making Allyson feel confused and betrayed.

She took one last deep breath. “Good that it’s not true, then”, she replied softly, almost a whisper, as she resumed her walk and left Lydia alone. The young Lady leaned back against a column and felt the loneliest since the death of the Princes, scratching the cold marble with her nails.

*

Gerard was sitting on his chair in the Council Chamber, balancing a cup of wine between his fingers. He looked in front of him, where Chris and Victoria were sitting, looking back at him. He gritted his teeth as he let down the letter he was reading, and his expression hardened.

“Is it the Boltons?”, Chris asked, raising his chin, and letting his arm fall over the table, his armor clashing loudly. Victoria eyed him from the side.

“Yes”, Gerard spat out, simply, placing his hand over the letter, tapping it lightly several times, and looking at the distance absent. Then he looked back at Chris.

“Something stirs in the north, they say”, the King completed.

Victoria frowned, and Chris raised an eyebrow. “What else do they say?”, he asked.

Gerard frowned at him. “The Syns in the Dark Lands aren’t taking it well to be under the rule of Ashenfort for so long. They lost some of their unity after the death of the Hales”, he added, coldly, “but now something has changed. Lord Rafael McCall is behind.”

Chris nodded. “Is it possible some Hale survived Belerion?”, he asked, looking at his father with curiosity.

“No”, Victoria deadpanned, standing up. “Every Hale died in Winterfell. Isn’t that so?”, she said, looking at Gerard intensely.

Gerard bit his lip and looked up at her. “That’s what I believe”, he said.

“And there’s no reason to pay heed to unfounded rumors”, she stated, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, your Majesty, I must leave. I have to meet with Allyson.”

Both men nodded and she turned to leave through the door. When they were alone, Gerard sat back on his chair and let out a sigh.

“The whole world is uneasy”, he said, slowly. “The Pentosi can barely hold together against the Searing barbarians, and here in Sylune the Vallese are ever the most distrusting. Natalie Martin was easy to come around, but the Jackson kid is too damn stubborn”, he ranted, getting riled up.

“No one said ruling was easy”, his son replied, with a weak smile. “But don’t forget about the lower Vallese too. They loved their Mother and she won’t be easily forgotten. She set the bar high. We can only hope this year’s harvest is good, or you will hear from them.”

Gerard put his fist on the table. “Scaled presence is what Sylune missed, whether they realize it or not”, he blurted, furious. “You do well to remember that.”

Chris nodded coldly. “I didn’t forget. But what I’m saying is true. Be careful, father.”

The King laughed. “We’ll thrive, no matter what”, he replied, smiling satisfied. 

 

**Dragon’s End, August 1017 AN**

Parrish was in Stuart’s private quarters, which he had been given after he’d become a powerful death knight. He had spacious rooms and some of the lowest Nyctian acolytes acted as servants for him. The main chamber was carved within the rock of the mountain, and it overlooked Raszira’s Rest and the Valley from an onyx balcony that made its way through the rock. On its side one could see the Valley; it stood tall, since the complex had its entrance on the opposite side of the mountain.

It was already close to nightfall, and the dusty brown atmosphere was already filtering the red hues of the sun that sank in the Valley’s green fields. Its lively colors were dulled in the distance when seen from Dragons’ End. One could even see Dawn Gallows from there and the Twilight Forest, from the eyes of an eagle, as well as the narrow passes in the traitorous mountains that lead there.

Inside the ample cave-room there was a table and on one of the sides a small pool of thermal waters. The Nyctians often used them to calm their muscles and disconnect from the worries of the world, after their long and harsh training sessions. The constant presence of Death strained not only muscles, but also the soul, and it exhausted every warrior.

Parrish was sitting on a chair, working on some pyromancy books when Stuart let out a sigh and ran his hands through his hair. He’d been working on his own grimoires, and he’d been learning a bit of Iberish that the Dark Sister and other Nyctians had taught him.

His chair creaked against the floor when he pushed it back, and he made a beeline for the thermal pool. He got undressed, giving his back to his friend. First he took off his shirt and threw it on the floor, and then he removed his shoes. When he was standing on the white marble of the edge he bowed down to remove his shorts and undergarments, tossing them aside as well. Then he walked down the steps and felt the hot water and the vapors begin to remove the stress from of his skin. When the water was on waist level, he sat down and leaned against the wall, bathing everything but his head.

Parrish got up and stood by the edge, looking at him. Stuart stared back, and stood to dip to a lower part of the pool, showing his strong back before he splashed water all around him. His training had him be much defined than he was when he lived in Sylune. When he emerged from the water, he opened his mouth to breathe and shook his head, though his fringe still stuck to his forehead, wet and messy. He’d had his hair cut recently, but he’d already grown some back.

Stuart kept looking at Parrish. “What is it?”, he said, running his hands through his wet hair, standing up.

The hot droplets rolled down his collarbones, chest and his fully visible abs, to sink back in the waters.

Parrish clenched his jaw. “There’s something I never told you”, he announced, with a clear voice, “about my brother and Jackson.”

Stuart raised his eyebrows, tilting his head as he got closer to the edge of the pool, looking up at his friend. “The future Prince?”, he asked, bitterly.

Parrish sighed. “I’m sure he resents it as much as you do. He didn’t like the Argents.”

Stuart scoffed, spitting some water out. “He liked no one.”

Parrish smirked, raising his eyebrows. “And neither did you.”

Stuart bit his tongue and stared at Parrish. “What is it you wanted to say?”

“I know what happened in the Council. Lord Bolton pacted with the Argents to place Allyson in the crown, with you… and my brother pacted with the Hales”, Parrish explained.

Stuart seemed bored, as he crossed his arms on the edge and kept looking up at Parrish. “I already knew as much. What I didn’t know is why.”

“I made a promise to my brother”, Parrish said, looking at the distance, “but it’s moot now, I guess”, he mumbled, looking back down at Stuart.

Stuart raised an eyebrow.

“Peter Hale is Jackson’s mother”, Parrish blurted out.

Stuart’s eyes widened. “The bastard is half-Syn?”, he spat out, in shock.

Parrish nodded.

Stuart pondered the information as Parrish clenched his jaw and finally sat down on the edge, sighing, closer to Stuart. Stuart grinned.

“You should’ve told me this sooner. Now that the North is revolting, I know exactly the push they need to oppose the Crown…”  

It was Parrish’s turn to raise his eyebrow.

Stuart walked backwards, ready to dive in the warm water again. “An identity”, he added, smiling with his white teeth and closing his mouth before he sank down.

**Pentos, September 1017 AN**

In Deaton’s mansion, close to the balcony, everyone was gathered around the table. It was close to midday. Deaton was in the middle, formal-looking in his purple master robes, surrounded by Melissa and John. The former King was wearing his Queen’s Guard upgraded armor and a cloak. Ewyn was by his side, and Kira and Scott by Melissa’s. Deaton was pointing at a map of Pentos which showed all the doors and passages in the Golden and Silver walls.

John let out a sigh and raked his nails through his scalp, looking at Deaton. Everyone listened as he talked.

“The situation is the direst now. If we can’t manage to push them back before we did last year, the Sehari will reach the Silver Wall!”, he said, turning to look at Ewyn. “The mercenaries just won’t be enough.”

She bit her lip, looking at the map frustrated as well. “We’re doing what we can. The next two months will be decisive. They won’t attack during an open winter...”

Melissa sighed, too, putting her palms on the table to lean over it, looking at Ewyn. Scott looked at his mother as she spoke. “I wish Allaris was helping more this year.”

Ewyn rolled her eyes. “I’ve told you a thousand times I don’t control him!”

Scott sighed too, “It’s just… we need any help we can get.”

“What if they reach the Silver Wall?”, Kira interrupted, scared, looking at Deaton.

Deaton’s expression hardened. “Every slave will be called to the front, together with the slave City Guard.”

“But they’re not trained! They’re not the city army. Will I be called too?”, Kira blurted, anxious. Scott pulled her close to his body.

“Not if it’s up to Deaton”, he reassured her, half-embracing the young woman. Deaton nodded.

Ewyn let out a deeper sigh. “Deaton… I was thinking about something. Those friends of yours, the merchants that are discontent with the current rulers… they’ll also try to save as many slaves as they can, right?”

Deaton nodded as well. “However,” he said, serious, “If the Walls fall, all of Pentos will be sacked. The Sehari won’t make a distinction between slave and free man.”

Kira swallowed loudly. Ewyn looked at her sympathetically, trying to calm her down. “We’ll make everything in our power in the mercenary party to keep them at bay. Sir John is joining the City Guard’s commanders, under Deaton’s recommendation.”

“We know you will”, Scott replied, giving her a weak smile as he placed a soft Kiss to Kira’s temple.

Kira looked at Ewyn too, trying to give her a smile, but her eyes were still sad and it didn’t reach them.

Ewyn felt worried, uneasy about the future of Pentos and their own. And, of course, that of the mercenaries, Syns included.  

*

Derek and Laura were getting supplies at the Golden Wall, within Pentos, during the early morning. They looked through the open gates at the dark colors of the desert that still had to fade with dawn. In the darkness, the enraged savages loomed menacing, threatening to pillage the ancient city-state of Pentos. Everyone in the city was uneasy; even the City Guard. Pentos had a slave City Guard that operated as its army in the times of need. They were trained from youth with heavy discipline and a strenuous physical regimen. The problem was that Pentos was alone in the tip of the Western Lands, and the Sehari peoples were many and had begun to cluster together after Allaris was stolen from them.

The Syn twins walked past four guards, two on each part of the small tunnel, to exit the Walls. They were wearing a dark grey metal that covered almost every part of their bodies, wielded spear and shield, and had a helmet that only showed their eyes. They looked impersonal, and slaves weren’t people for the Pentosi rulers.

These rulers used to go by the name of the Five High Masters and owned each one of the five big Pentosi towers. Five was a common theme in Pentos, with lots of its purple roofs having five sides, amongst other things.

Leaving behind the Golden Wall and carrying the supplies inside a bag on their backs, Laura let out a deep sigh.

“Derek. I know you never take it well when I talk about home, but I need you to hear what I know”, she said grievously, looking at him.

Derek huffed. “Just say what you must and be done with it.”

Laura stopped walking, and turned to look at him. “There are rumors of discontent in the Dark Lands. Lord McCall’s name is whispered everywhere in the north. They hate the Boltons.”

Derek kept glaring at her, and dropped his bag to the sand with a loud thud and the sound of the weapons’ metal clashing inside. “So what? We already knew the Boltons hated our family. They probably plotted with Stuart. But that’s all in the past, Laura!”, he said, getting riled up.

That was fast.

“Maybe a Hale is what the North needs now!”, she spat back at him.

“You’ve said it yourself a million times!”, he shouted, openly angry now. “When we came. That we’d leave everything behind! We have a life here now. Pentos needs us”, he said loudly, and then he looked away briefly. He looked back at her, with a hint of sadness in his voice too. “The Holy Kingdom is nothing but a graveyard for us!”

Laura huffed and took a deep breath. “You’re right we have a duty here. But we were born in Winterfell, and we’ll always be northerners. You had better not forget that, Derek Hale!”, she retaliated, flashing her eyes red and taking a step closer to him.

He kept staring at her, until he averted his gaze and picked up his bag from the ground. He started walking away, but she stayed in the spot, looking at the ground.

“After all these years, I still miss them so much”, he heard Laura say from behind, completely broken and probably almost on the verge of tears.

He stopped, but didn’t look back at her. He just couldn’t.

“So do I, every day”, he replied softly, swallowing. He looked at the desert, into the distance. “But we can’t go back…”, he said, almost a whisper.

Laura kept looking at the sand between her feet.

“And we have a war of our own to fight”, she heard him say, determinate, as he finally left.

Laura saw his figure become smaller, and she got lost in her own thoughts. She was Talia Hale’s daughter, a true Syn, and while Pentos was their priority now, she’d realized this was not her life, not forever. The wolves didn’t cower before the dragons, and she would do whatever was right for the North and the Dark Lands.

It’s true they had left behind a past they could not return to, but that didn’t mean there was not a new future to be forged in their homeland, where she made sure things were set right. She’d never be whole again, but she was the alpha. She had to be strong for both of them. Laura couldn’t force Derek to share her dream, though – she knew his pain very well. A dull pain she felt every day, which became sharper with the memory of what had been forever lost to the flames.

It was easy to ignore one’s origins. No one should have to relive that. But the world was hardly fair.

*

That night, outside of Pentos and close to the Silver Wall, Boyd, Derek and Ewyn sat on the sand. They were close to a bonfire. Laura and Erica weren’t there. Ewyn was silently staring at the sands in the distance, and the dark sky loomed over them. Even without the sight of smoke and Sehari hordes approaching, it looked threatening.

Boyd and Derek had been talking about the imminent need to call for reinforcements, which meant that more untrained slaves would die. The party had lost their privileged position in the oases with the Sehari advance, and they had lost more people than in the past four years put together. Boyd was frustrated, and he let out a deep breath.

“I don’t want any more slave families to be broken”, he vented, angry. “They have enough with being enslaved by the masters, they don’t need to be orphans too”, he spat out.

Derek sighed too, visibly troubled.

Ewyn spoke absently without looking at Boyd. She remembered Deaton’s words. “Shitty as it is, we need unity more than anything now. Us, the reinforcements and the Guard. If we fail, everyone will suffer all the same…”

Boyd stared at her, but finally looked away. “I guess you’re right.”

Derek kept staring at his own feet.

Boyd cleared his throat. “Which is why you shouldn’t be arguing with your sister right now”, he noted, sharply, looking at Derek.

Derek looked at him briefly and let out a joyless sigh.

“What’s going on?”, Ewyn asked, curious. “You and Laura had a fight?”, she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Derek doesn’t like to think about his past in the Eastern Lands.”

Ewyn smirked. “You’re not the most talkative fellow, if we’re talking about one’s past, you know that?”

Boyd frowned. “My past was taken from me!”, he spat out, angrily, after a moment of silence.

Ewyn’s face dropped. “Yeah well, guess what, his too. Mine too. And we can’t do anything about that!”, she retaliated, as angry, “but what are we accomplishing by being in denial and wallowing instead of fighting together?”

Boyd didn’t reply, but he averted his gaze, avoiding her, and his anger seemed to dissipate. Derek spoke up.

“It’s different”, he said, “You don’t know what you left behind in Sylune”, he continued, “but I remember every single thing”, he rasped, piercing her with his indecipherable green eyes.

“Stuart Stilinski killed my mother, my father, my little sister, my uncle, his own family; the Boltons took over the north and the Argents, the fucking Scaled, took over the Crown”, he rambled, fuming, “the fucking World is upside down”.

The three of them fell silent after that. Ewyn looked away, tapping her foot awkwardly. She didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry”, she finally offered, “I didn’t know you’d lost so many people.”

Derek closed his eyes and ran his hands through his hair, sighing. “Look, I’m sorry too. It’s… not your fault. We’re all on edge.”

“I know”, Ewyn said softly, then opened her mouth to say something, hesitant, as she looked at him, “But isn’t that why Laura and you should stick together?”, she ventured, raising her eyebrows with a forlorn expression.

Derek looked in the holy mage’s whiskey-colored, pure eyes. “I guess it is…”, he admitted, letting out a deep breath. Boyd nodded.

After that, the conversation was much less strained. Ewyn eased them into being more open by talking about what she remembered.

“I have this weird feeling”, she explained, flailing her arms, “that I know someone. But then I don’t really remember them”, she said.

Derek nodded, and Boyd pouted as they heard her going on.

Later, the Saur and the Syn listened to Boyd talking about the Summer Islands, his family and his friends. He had, apparently, even set eyes on one of the girls there, who seemed to correspond his affections. He wondered, saddened, what had become of her. She hadn’t been brought to Pentos, but left in Yith, that much he knew.

The night went on and Boyd told them about the legends from Yith, and both easterners listened attentive to the tales of Blood Magic temples and the exotic, mysterious city. Ewyn shared her knowledge about Aeron and the Red Sorceress, a tale which Derek already knew, and they ended up talking about Sylune as well. Derek said he had liked the Queen, who was a fair ruler and Mother, even though he wasn’t very pious to the Light himself. Ewyn took the chance to talk about her holy magic.

“I remember practicing since I was very young”, she explained. “I think I remember some of the mages I trained with…”, she added. “But they weren’t, you know, the most important people in my life. Just people I saw sometimes…”, she went on, as they listened closely.

“It’s like I can’t remember those who really mattered to me”, she said at one point, with a vulnerable look to her eyes that made Derek want to hug her.

“I think I had a fling with this Heather girl”, she said, after she had talked about Caitlin, another Holy Mage. “Nothing too serious, though”.

Boyd raised an eyebrow, surprised by the relaxed mores of the mages. Not that he was a stranger to the idea; the Red Sorcerers of Yith weren’t the chastest institution, after all.  

Finally, the Syn opened up like he hadn’t even with Boyd before, and he was his best friend. Derek ended up talking about her little sister, and Boyd smiled and saddened at the memory of his own little sister, of which he knew nothing anymore. She was probably in Yith, serving as a house slave, and that’d be a merciful fate… he didn’t want to dwell on worse odds.

“I’ve always wondered”, Ewyn asked, smiling at Derek, “why each of you Syns flash a different eye color when you wolf out. Is it like, your mood state or something?”, she asked gleefully, teasing him.

Derek squinted his eyes, flashing blue at her. She smirked.

“Laura has red because she’s the alpha of our family, after my mother died”, he explained, solemnly. Ewyn nodded, attentive.

“Betas are usually yellow, but your eyes become blue when…”, he continued, hesitant, “when you kill someone innocent.”

Boyd’s eyes widened and Ewyn gaped as she furrowed her brow. Derek looked at them, sad, and he let out a deep sigh.

That night, Derek told Ewyn and his best friend about Paige, his first love, and how Ennis Bolton had poisoned her to teach him a lesson about lycan blood purity. Derek had needed to mercy-kill her. Only his uncle Peter and Laura knew about the whole truth.

After Boyd had left, Ewyn and Derek sat closer to each other. By the flames, Ewyn wrapped her arm around him, half-embracing his warm, solid body. She squeezed his shoulder, comforting him. The Saur spoke softly.

“I also have this dark feeling”, she confessed, almost a whisper, “that I lost someone I loved the most.” 

Their sides pressed together as they looked up at the stars, with an overwhelming feeling of emptiness they didn’t quite know how to fill. Not yet, at least. But each other’s presences made it seem bearable.

 

**Ruins of Winterfell, November 1017 AN**

Deep in the night, within the Dark Lands, the few peasants that were awake saw a shady figure riding Invincible, swiftly, through the fields. He was a Nyctian steed believed to be a bad omen, and though everyone had heard about him, few believed the animal really existed beyond tales. Only ridden by the highest of the death knights, its spectral neighs echoed in the darkness.

Invincible was an almost skeletal horse, powered by the blue flames that burned inside its ribcage and skull, where the heart and eyes should be. He was prepared to be ridden with a cushioned saddle. His shady rider urged the undead beast towards Winterfell.

With a new moon, only the stars shone over the ruins of what used to be Winterfell. The castle and the walls were mostly destroyed, still as Belerion left the fortress years ago. The rider came in through the absent doors, which had been reduced to ashes. Inside, it was all charred debris and rubble. The tower was also barely standing, exposing part of its interior where the bricks were missing.

The rider tethered the horse to one of the few standing wooden beams after he got down, and he started walking, following the pull of Death.

Stuart took off his hood, looking up at the stars and then closing his eyes. The dim starlight made his clean-shaven face look smoother than usual.

Stuart went where his feet took him and ended up where he wanted to be. He felt the energy coming from below, a small mound surrounded by a circle of mountain ash he’d crossed and a spell casted around to hide it. But it couldn’t be hidden from Stuart, because no spell could stand between a Nyctian and the pull of Death. 

Stuart knelt down and put his hand over the earth, feeling a shiver run through his body at the direct contact with the magic. He broke the spell and felt the mound, which was a tomb, begin to light up. Two circles of light surrounded him as he stood up and a soft wind blew against him. He took off his cloak; he had just clothes on, not armor. Stuart raised his hands and began casting the spell he’d been preparing himself for during years: a resurrection spell. He stood silently as the lights became stronger and he shut his eyes tight. He mumbled to himself, determined:

“First task. Bring someone back to life to make them die…”

*

There was earth everywhere as Peter Hale squirmed, over the removed soil of his tomb, in the very armor he’d worn the day he died. He moved about, scared and pale, with his eyes even bluer than usual and a small shadow under them. He looked at Stuart terrified as he knelt beside him, and the death knight placed a hand to his shoulder, pinning him down. 

Peter screamed as Stuart placed his hand on his burned cheek and infused him with energy. Peter’s body began to heal with the energy of Stuart’s black magic, coming back to the state before he was dead except for the pallor and eerie aura. His factions took their former, handsome appearance again. Peter arched his back with some last screams of pain as he dug his fingers in the dirt. When he was done, he let out a deep sigh of relief and opened his eyes slowly. Stuart stood up and looked down at him, coldly.

“Am I… alive?”, Peter rasped, tentatively.

“For as long as I wish”, Stuart replied, piercing him with his eyes. Peter closed his eyes and swallowed tightly.

“Why?”, he said, low.

“You’re going to kill the Boltons”, Stuart said, placing his foot close to Peter’s ribs, threatening to kick but not doing so. “Avenge your family.”

Peter stared at Stuart, confused. “Shouldn’t I kill you for that?”, Peter replied, his expression turned defiant. Stuart frowned.

“I wasn’t behind Belerion’s actions”, he stated, matter-of-factly. “But I don’t care what you believe. You’ll meet with Rafael McCall and you will do as I say”, he explained, calmly.

Peter’s eyes became angry. “And if I don’t?”, he responded, his voice still rough from disuse

He tried to sit up, prodding himself up with his elbows. Stuart knelt down quickly again, pushing Peter against the ground and wrapping his hand around his neck.

Peter’s back hurt immensely as he hit the cold soil, and he let out a grunt. Stuart stared directly into his blueness, his own eyes glowing with a dim violet from the spell.

“Then I’ll let go of the thin thread of your life. I’ll kill my first and the last Hale, and your family will be forgotten”, he spat out, angrily, “forever”.

Peter swallowed and nodded, defeated.

 

**Sylune, December 1017 AN**

During a dark winter night, one of the windiest in whole the season, Lydia was in her room in the Martin residence. She was packing a few items she wanted to carry with herself, ready to leave before dawn. She was putting on her inconspicuous brown cloak over her travel clothes. She rarely wore anything other than dresses, but now it wasn’t a matter of being pretty.

Meredith paced around her nervously, her hands clasped together.

“Why would you go…”, she mumbled to herself.

Lydia sighed, and stopped what she was doing to go to Meredith and look at her.

“Hey, look at me”, Lydia said, to get Meredith’s attention from where she was looking down at the tiles.

“You don’t need to come. I can’t ask you to. But it’s best if nobody notices for as long as possible, where I am”, she continued, serious.

“Are you telling me to keep it secret?”, Meredith said, worried.

Lydia nodded. “You can always come and stay at Dawn’s Gallows. I will give you enough gold. But please, whatever you do, don’t tell my mother where I’ve gone”, Lydia said, smiling at her. “As my friend”, she added.

Meredith seemed conflicted, but finally nodded. “I’m your friend”, she said, smiling weakly. “I… I’ll go with you.”

Lydia smiled. “I think it’s best”, she said. “The North is unhappy and Sylune will have to take action soon. The Bolton boy keeps rambling about how his father is bugged by the Syns from the Dark Lands.” 

Meredith raised her eyebrows. “Ethan? The lad who is after you?”

Lydia nodded.

“What’s more, things in Sylune may take an ugly turn soon. The harvest was scarce, and even if most people are more scared by the rumors of Stuart than by their rulers…”, she said, as Meredith’s worry grew,, “Hunger is tangible, and whispers of Death from the mountains are not.”

“Lydia”, Meredith replied, biting her lip. “Are you completely sure about the King? You can’t take this lightly…”

Lydia’s face became stern. “I’ve told you all I know. I’m sure this is true. Jackson saw Victoria’s Orb in the Council Room. Belerion’s uneasy and showing all the signs”, she added, coldly, but then her voice became sad.

“The Argents are to blame, and my best friend resents me because she can’t see her family for what they are. My own mother has been brainwashed by Gerard into thinking I’m a silly little girl.”  

Meredith looked down, nodding, and softly said. “It’s just so terrible…”

“I know”, Lydia said, squeezing her shoulders. “That’s why we must leave.”

Meredith held back her tears, shutting her eyes and sniffling.

*

That night, the two women rode past the gates of Sylune in the direction of the Riverlands. Their horse took them through a road parallel to the Path of Ashes that was less frequented by travelers. The night was even windier outside the Walls of the Holy City; but thankfully it wasn’t raining. There were few clouds in the sky, so their travel was made easier.

They went through the dark, green hills from which they could see the few lights of the towns scattered around the Valley and the small affluents of Clearwaters. Lydia had gotten outside the city through secret passages in her District only the Martins knew, taking Meredith with her and reassuring her friend they’d be fine alone. Lydia would protect her if anything happened.

As Meredith held close to her, hands wrapped around Lydia’s belly, Lydia looked at the horizon and left the Six Hills of Sylune behind. Her mind was flooded with expectation, uncertainty and the overwhelming feeling of excitement about meeting with Stuart again. That Stuart could really have survived and in Dragon’s End made her skin electric. There was a warm sensation taking place in her, one which she hadn’t felt in a long time.

She felt alive.

 

**Ruins of Winterfell, December 1017 AN**

The same night, Rafael McCall and Peter Hale entered in the ruins of Winterfell on horseback, trotting below the absent doors and the broken stone arch. The city was in the same state as the previous month, when Peter had risen from the cold earth. Stuart had left Peter on his own, and he’d found Lord McCall, who had received him back warmly, even if initially a bit apprehensive about the circumstances of his return to life. McCall had updated Peter on the situation after his death, and they had both come to an understanding.

“Rebuilding Winterfell”, Peter said, with his usual charm.

Lord McCall smiled and nodded, as he commanded his horse to a stop. “A Hale is what the North needs to stand against the Boltons.”

Peter smirked, and did the same with his horse. “I wonder how you’ve been for more than four years under the rule of the Highlanders.”

McCall sighed. “It hurts my Syn pride to even mention it… what’s more; they aren’t true northerners, but puppets of King Gerard. The Court’s dyed in green now.”  

“Quite shameful, yes”, Peter replied, and his smile faded.. “But that will change”, he said, solemnly.

“We’ll declare the North independent, like in the old times. And we’ll take the Hills and Osternis, no matter what the Crown does.”

McCall smiled and nodded. “A Hale ruling the North is how it’s meant to be. Like true Syns. Like it’s always been, with the old Kings in the North.”

Peter chuckled at the mention of Kings of yore. If only he were the one holding the power this time… the north may be truly independent, self-ruling; but the only King in sight was the King of Darkness. Nothing he wanted more than his revenge, though, and so he paid heed.

“For now, the Dark Lands will no longer take any orders from Deucalion”, he concluded, serious.

“Only from you”, Rafael added, and Peter’s horse neighed in agreement.

**Dragon’s End, January 1018 AN**

At the gates of the Temple of Bones, Lydia and Meredith were surrounded by Nyctian acolytes. They were wielding daggers, pointing the weapons at the two travelers from Sylune menacingly. Lydia couldn’t see any of their faces. They had arrived moments ago, with sundown, and found the grounds deserted. They were ambushed after they’d crossed the threshold under the skull of Raszira. Meredith stepped back, closer to Lydia, who was facing two of the Nyctians. She was casting a protective shield around them, so their foes refused to step any closer and everyone was tense.

“Stay close to me”, Lydia said, and Meredith nodded.

Lydia shut her eyes briefly, and the shield faded. Then she opened them widely and clenched her fists, putting them down. She finally exposed her palms as a clear violet light appeared around both of them, and she cast her astral spell.

“SOUL BLAST!”, she screamed, as a strong breeze materialized.

She kept her eyes opened as her strawberry hair rose with the wind, and a blast of energy centered on both of them burst outwards. It removed the red dust from the ground and pushed the Nyctians away, making each be sent away with the gust of wind and fall on their backs or sides. The astral impact had profoundly wounded their spirits, so they had trouble getting back up and she took the chance to grab Meredith’s wrist and run away.

“Get her!”, she heard from behind, and she saw two new pyromancers begin to cast a fire spell she’d have to block, if they didn’t want to end up roasted. She came to a halt and looked back at them defiantly. Meredith closed her eyes.

Then, another voice stopped all of them, coming down from the Temple itself. Lydia put her hands down and raised her eyebrows.

“Stop it, everyone!”, the old woman said, coming down the black steps, and the pyromancers bowed down. The sky beyond the temple was already getting darker. Lydia stayed where she was, and the woman made a beeline for her when she was in the dusty expanse, taking her time.

“A Sylunite”, the woman said, smiling maliciously.

Lydia furrowed her brow. “I’m Lydia Martin from Sylune, yes, and I’m not a spy or an intruder, nor is my friend”, she replied, her voice tight.

The woman laughed. “You truly are the beautiful Lydia Martin”, she said, “I’m sorry for your reception”, she added, calmly.

The woman raised her hands and took off her hood, revealing her wrinkled but still beautiful face; she must have been quite a sight in her time. Her hair was all white and long down to the shoulders as it fell down, released from the hood. She stared at Lydia with her violet eyes.

Lydia took a step back, gaping, as she brought a hand to her heart.

“Quite fierce, too”, the woman said, smiling again, and now she could see it reached her eyes. “Lydia, do you know who I am?”

Lydia didn’t answer as her eyes widened.

“I’m Lorraine Martin. You’re my granddaughter.” 

“Grandma?”, Lydia said in shock, her pitch too high.

The Dark Sister nodded. “Here I’m only the Dark Sister, and the ties of blood don’t matter”, she added, still as unmoved.

Lydia averted her gaze and swallowed, but then looked back at her. “After father died, mother wouldn’t tell me anything about you. Wouldn’t let me talk about necromancy or Stuart…”, Lydia explained, sadly.

“And then you heard about the Prince in Dragon’s End?”, the Dark Sister asked, raising an eyebrow as the sides of her eyes wrinkled more pronouncedly.

Lydia nodded. “He was my friend, in Sylune…”

The Dark Sister laughed. “Friends? I see”, she said, skeptical.

“Stuart was always confident you were clever enough to figure out the truth”, she explained, “but neither of us thought you’d leave everything in Sylune behind.”

Lydia’s heart stuttered, but she clenched her fist and put it down. “Sylune is going to hell with Gerard and Victoria… and I need to stop it. I need to see him!”, she replied, getting more impatient at the thought of reuniting with Stuart.

The Dark Sister smiled as she put a hand in her granddaughter’s shoulder. “I’ll take you to him”, she said reassuringly.

“I think he’ll like seeing you too”, a voice said, coming from the lower steps of the stairs. Parrish had come down, in his shiny pyromancer armor, holding his helmet under his arm. He greeted her confused look with a smile.

Lydia was shocked to see him, too, and it wasn’t long before they were hugging each other tightly, the young woman being crushed under his armor.

She let out a deep sigh of relief, ecstatic not everything had been lost to the flames of Belerion years ago. Not all her friends; and not all her family.  

*

Later, Lydia entered Stuart’s chambers. He was distraught, slashing a column with his sword repeatedly. He had been practicing and was wearing his training clothes, sweat making them stick to his skin. He was gritting his teeth.

Stuart noticed someone enter the room and jerked his head. Their gazes locked. She gaped at the sight of his Prince, who had grown and changed. He was stronger, his look was colder, and his aspect wasn’t the same. His hair was black as the night, not brown; and his eyes were violet, classical signs of powerful skill in necromancers.  

She swallowed and saw the anger in his face dissipate. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped a bit too as he let his sword fall to the ground, with a loud clash. Lydia felt time go in slow motion, and she didn’t quite register that he began walking towards her, with disbelief in his face.

Stuart couldn’t believe the strawberry blonde in his room was his old friend Lydia. He realized that moment how much he had missed her; that she was probably the only reason he often thought of Sylune with anything other than hate.

He stopped before her, and they were at a loss for words. Lydia didn’t know what to say, because she wanted to say it all; to tell him that she loved him, to apologize for not coming earlier, to vent in rage about how everything had gone downhill after he disappeared… to commiserate him on the death of his family, to cry about her own father’s demise, against his shoulder.

She felt the lump on her throat and she just stared back at his violet eyes, where she saw that is was still him, the very same man she loved four years ago. That he wasn’t completely gone, despite all the time and change.

Stuart licked his upper lip slowly and found that no words would do to express what he wanted to tell her either. He wanted to tell her how much he had missed her, and to thank her for believing in him, in spite of the lies of the Argents. He wanted to thank her for having come all the way to meet him at Dragon’s End.

So he did what he felt he should do, and closed the distance between them, sealing his lips to her in a passionate kiss, trying to bring their souls together. He put his hand around her nape to have a better for the kiss, and after he’d enjoyed her soft lips, he pressed with his tongue. He was quickly corresponded, Lydia’s tongue chasing after his.

Lydia’s pupils were blown and her cheeks were flushed already; both of them were heating up with the kiss. She put her arms around his shoulders and pressed him closer to her, wanting more contact to feel his heat. She wanted to feel that he was real all over her body, feeling her breasts against his chest and his hardening line against her belly. When they broke the kiss, she cupped his face, running her thumbs over his cheekbones to ascertain he was there and not just a dream.

“I can’t… believe…”, she rasped, with a ragged voice.

“I always knew”, she added clumsily, desperate.

“I’ve missed you so”, he replied, between short breaths, before he pressed his lips to hers again and they both melted into the kiss.

She ran her hands through his hair as he pushed her against the stone of the wall a bit too hard, but she didn’t mind. He began running his hands down her shoulders, her sides, his thumbs brushing her breasts. He then took hold of her hips as he rutted against her belly. She moaned into his mouth as he let out a deep breath, shuddering.

When they broke the kiss Lydia took off Stuart’s shirt. He did the same with hers, her arms still raised when Stuart reached for her back to undo her brown brassiere and take it off. Her clothes were still a bit dirty from the travel, but she smelled nice, the way he always remembered her doing. It was the first time it awoke such degree of desire in him.

Lydia grabbed his shoulder and his ass to press him closer to her, her back still against the wall, and he let out a moan at the friction of his dick against her belly. She smiled and moved the hand in his shoulder up to run it through his hair again, pulling nicely.

Stuart looked down at her with hungry eyes and started mouthing at her neck, eliciting soft noises from his friend. Lydia looked up at the ceiling of the cave as Stuart went further down, biting softly at the skin of her collarbones and finally licking a trail down her skin, down to her breast. He lowered himself and pressed both hands to her sides as he tentatively licked her nipple. When she moaned, appreciative, he suckled on it. She screamed loudly and used the hand in his black hair to push his head against herself.

She was so aroused that she was already wet, and she searched for friction, trying to press her legs tighter together. She was wrecked, and Stuart looked up at her with a smirk as he nibbled on her wet nipple. She looked down at him, begging him to go further down. He seemed to understand.

Stuart complied, going farther south, pressing his cold nose to her midline and going down the hairless extent of skin. It was smooth and pale. He passed her navel and continued down until he was at the height of her waist. Stuart knelt, and Lydia opened her thighs to allow him more space, exhilarated with anticipation.

Stuart took off her pants and underwear, which was easy enough, and found himself admiring how wet she was. He smiled and breathed close to her. She felt his breath ghosting between her legs and felt a shiver run down her spine. Without further warning he plunged right in and mouthed at her folds, spreading them with mouth and tongue as he held her waist to have better access. He felt her shake a bit, but he pressed her hips to the wall with solid hands, stilling her. She let out a sharp breath.

Stuart looked up one last time, smiling with his eyes mischievously as he licked a stripe up between her folds, spreading them open with his thumbs. She felt his short, rough hairs on the side of her thighs, because he had shaved recently, and it was too much. He kept teasing her with long licks, from the lower part to the upper part but never her clit. Then he started circling with the tip of his tongue around it, and she grabbed his hair and pressed him harder against her cunt, urging him to give her release. He laughed silently against her, making her shiver again with the vibration. She threatened to move her hips by letting out a groan.

He seemed to understand her need because the next thing he did was taking two of his fingers to pinch the skin over the clit, exposing it, and licking it with his wonderful tongue at an increasing pace. Lydia let out a series of loud moans as he continued working on her. His tongue was over her spot, just with the rhythm she needed. Her breathing became erratic and she felt she was close

She tightened her legs around his head, almost lifting her body against the wall, to get Stuart impossibly closer to her. She let go of his hair as she came with a last loud scream, clenching all her muscles and then releasing the pressure around him.

She was panting to recover, riding the aftershocks with her eyes closed. Stuart leaned back, knelt on both legs, resting his palms on the cold ground to catch his breath too. He was still smiling mischievously at her.

Lydia was now completely naked, leaning against the wall. Her cheeks were flushed and breathing hastily. She looked down at Stuart, agape. He still had his pants on, and he was uncomfortably hard. Stuart stood up and moved closer to her, to a kissing distance, but he didn’t move.

Stuart stayed there smiling. His cheeks and his chin were wet from her. It was her who closed the distance now, licking his lips and nibbling them. She ran her hands down his body slowly. When she reached his pants she felt his cock, touching his outline through the fabric and tugging it down, making him moan into her mouth. They broke the kiss and she smiled.

She began getting Stuart out of his pants and he complied, taking off his undergarments next. They pressed their bodies together and kept kissing as his hard length sought friction against her belly. He moved his hips, pushing against her thighs as he mouthed at the corner of her lips.  

Lydia finally wrapped her hand around Stuart’s cock and began stroking him, speeding up the rhythm. He buried his head in the crook of her neck, after licking her ear. Lydia breathed heavily against his sweaty skin. 

Stuart let out low noises as she quickened the pace. He stood straight before her, and she felt his cock throb as he trusted into her fist repeatedly, looking lewdly at her. He placed his hands against the stone, caging Lydia between them.

She tightened her grip, and started fingering herself open with the other hand. It didn’t take much because she was already wet and loose from her orgasm. The first two fingers slid right in and she felt a pleasant stretch as Stuart licked his lips, looking down at her hand and then back at her eyes. She nodded, in a haze of lust.

She let go of his dick and he aligned himself with her. She placed her arms over his shoulders, and wrapped a leg around his waist. Stuart lifted her leg with his hand and moved forward. His cock pressed to her entrance, already slick from all her juices and his own precome. He pushed in slowly, sliding easily; both let out a moan as he stretched her muscles, filling her.

He mumbled something before their noises were muffled by the kiss they shared, and he pulled back. His cock almost slid out before he guided it back in with his hand, pushing all the way inside this time and pressing her back against the wall. They moaned inside each other’s mouths as he set his own pace, thrusting inside her easily and feeling her warmth around his cock. He was so worked up from eating her out that he was close. Lydia had already recovered, and she moved one of her hands down to start rubbing her own clit again. She smeared the wetness all over, as she brushed it with her thumb.

Stuart kept staring at her reverently, with his mouth agape and sweat dripping down his temples. Lydia brought her finger to his mouth and pressed it against his lower lip. He ran his tongue over it and she let out a long sigh. Then she took his free hand, since the other one was holding her leg up, and licked his thumb herself, moving it down to her clit. Stuart placed his palm under hers, over her belly. He thumbed her spot repeatedly, following her guidance as he kept thrusting at an increasing speed.

Lydia’s breathing became heavier with each brush of Stuart’s rougher thumb, and soon she was close too, ready for a second climax.

They kissed as she came, shivering and moaning when their mouths parted. She let her head fall back against the wall, clenching around Stuart, and that sent him over the edge. He put his hand behind her thigh and pressed into her one last time, stilling and spilling his seed inside. His cock throbbed in the aftermath as her muscles relaxed.

Stuart went limp, letting his forehead hit the stone, close Lydia’s, to cool himself down. They both had to catch their breaths, looking at each other sideways and contented.

“I also missed you”, Lydia said hurriedly, when she could form words.

Stuart swallowed and smiled, looking fondly at her.            

 

**Pentos, January 1018 AN**

Kira and Scott arrived where Deaton was in his mansion, close to the balcony. The early morning breeze blew through the room. The man was out of his more formal robes, and was wearing common clothes instead, sitting. Scott nodded when Deaton looked at him, expectant.  

“Ewyn’s already left to ask the mercenary party for their support”, the young man said, serious. Kira looked at him and then back at Deaton.

Deaton nodded again. “Good. We need as many as we can get. As for my part, things have been set in motion”, he informed, calmly, as he put his hand over the table, tapping on it with his fingers.

“Sir John is in the City Guard and he’ll try to bring them to our side to the best of his abilities”, he continued “and if we succeed, a group of merchants is willing to take over the High Masters and change their… policies”

Kira smiled weakly. “The group of slaves I spoke with has agreed that it will happen in two days in the main square of Pentos, during the market hours. After they announce the punishments for the deserters…”

Scott took her hand and squeezed it. Kira’s face saddened, but she tried to stay strong.

Deaton returned her weak smile, offering hope in his eyes.

*

Close to the Golden Wall, Ewyn found Derek and Erica arguing bitterly against each other. She was red, biting her lip and shouting; and he was fuming, his nostrils flaring as he glowered at her.

“What’s going on?”, Ewyn asked as she came closer to them. Both looked at her, scowling.

“Derek’s an asshole”, she said, “He’s angry at me because Laura left!”, she spat out, furious.

“What could I do?”, she whined rhetorically, in a high pitch.

Ewyn raised her eyebrows. “Laura left without saying anything?”, she asked Derek, who was trying to calm himself down.

He responded with a rough voice. “She took off in the night, to go North, without a warning. She told Erica she’d return in a month or two and that she didn’t want me to go”, he said, outraged.

Ewyn gaped. “Why did she want to go north?”

“Haven’t you heard?”, he blurted, angry “Someone’s made up a sick rumor a Hale lives, and the Dark Lands no longer respond to the Boltons.”

Ewyn swallowed, taken aback. “And… why didn’t she want you to go?”

Derek sighed “Because we made a promise about never looking back. And she’s betrayed me.”

Ewyn’s face dropped. Erica put her hands on her waist and looked at the ground, not knowing what to say either.

After some seconds, Ewyn cleared her throat.

“Laura’s not here, then. That’s a setback...”

Derek looked at her, furrowing his brow. “The campaign’s over. The Sehari are gone. What do you mean?”

Ewyn sighed and met his gaze, serious. “Derek, what I’m about to tell you is important. So I need you to tell Boyd and everyone later. In two days, the High Masters will be in the main square at midday…”

Erica eyed Derek briefly before looking back at Ewyn. “Yeah? Right. Isn’t that when they make the announcements?”

Ewyn nodded grievously. “With Allaris missing for a long time, we barely survived the Siege of the Silver Wall. We may’ve won for the year, but many mercenaries, guards and the slaves died”, she added.

Derek nodded. “And those who deserted are going to be punished harshly by the rulers”, he said with contempt, as he spat on the ground.

Ewyn raised her eyebrows. “Well, yes. That’s why the slaves are going to revolt. We all are. And I came to ask for your help.”

Erica gaped and looked at Derek, whose eyes were similarly wide with surprise. The Syn was at a loss for words, be she could see the hint of hope in his eyes.

“I… I need to tell Boyd”, Derek added, “but we will help, of course, if this has any chance of success.”

Ewyn nodded. “I’ll tell you guys the details of the strategy”, she replied, smiling. She then turned to look at Erica, who was smirking at her. She knew they’d offer their help, of course they would. They all hated slavery; and no one more so than Boyd and Erica.

“So where can we meet?”, Ewyn pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

*

Two days later, in the Main Square, the hubbub of the market came to a halt as the High Masters climbed the platform behind the gallows. It was a bit after midday and the sun heated up the square’s stony ground, cold from the night.

The Five were surrounded by slave bodyguards, who wore the bronze collars and dark armors. They were dressed in sumptuous and ornamented robes of blue and purple patterns, in the Pentosi and more exotic Yithi fashions. Two of them had recently began purchasing more slaves from Yith and acquiring many odd trinkets from the faraway land. They wore them, such as necklaces and rings, shiny with their polished metal and precious gems; a visible sign of their status.

They sat on the chairs behind the gallows, where four slaves were about to be hung. The High Master in the middle, who was known as the Master of Spices, stood up and walked forwards until the edge. He cleared his throat and put a hand in the air, placing the other over his fat belly.

“Noble and free citizens of Pentos! I require your attention!”, he shouted, with a high voice, as everyone got closer to listen to the announcement. He began his speech.

“As you know, we’ve suffered grievous losses this last month. But our mighty city managed to expel the Searing savages again”, he began.

“However, we are not contented with the numerous desertions… the insubordination…”, he continued, almost spitting, “…of the unruly slaves that were called to defend their noble city”, he pointed, raising his voice.

“Pentos didn’t become the great city that it is without a firm hand. A firm hand to end disobedience, and to uphold its traditions”, he stated. He stopped for a moment, to swallow, as everyone was silent and expectant.

“This is why we will present… measures”, he added, disdainful, with a rougher tone in his voice.

“Every slave without a collar will be executed and their masters will be sanctioned”, he said, as there was a low uproar in the crowd. Two of his bodyguards stepped forward, between him and the edge, where some of the citizens were gathered too close for comfort. The man coughed, a bit nervous, but continued his bitter speech anyway.

Within the crowd, three cloaked figures stood close to the platform. One of them took a quick glance of the whole square. On the eastern side was the harbor; on the center, the gallows; and on the opposing end, behind the Masters, there were grey walls to one of the Five Towers. The City Guard kept watch over the doors to the Walls, and on one of the southern end’s stone stairs was Sir John, in his armor. He was looking down at the gallows, with an expression of worry wrinkling his face. On the northern end of the wall, Derek, Erica and Boyd were cloaked as well, eyeing the guards suspiciously. Everyone was in their position.

As the Master of Spices rambled, Ewyn, Kira and Scott were talking hushedly by the platform, still in their cloaks.

“I don’t know how you’ve gotten Deaton to agree to this”, Ewyn whispered.

“Because he has a good heart”, Scott replied, elbowing her. “Look, we all have to be clear on this. It’s our one chance and we cannot fail”, he said, with a serious expression.

“We have to risk it all”, Kira said, solemnly, clenching her fist. Scott looked at her fondly.

“For freedom”, she said.

“For freedom”, Scott and Ewyn repeated.

The Master of Spices was about to conclude his talk. “…and now, as a warning, these four slaves will have their necks broken, as punishment. Let everyone see the fate of cowards! Their bronze collars will be replaced by the red collar they’ll carry to the next world”, he said, smugly, and the crowd was ever the more outraged. Some insults were thrown at the Masters, and some gritted their teeth from their chairs.

On one end of the platform, Deaton went up the low stairs. His hands were clasped together, and he stopped at a short distance from the Five Masters. He looked at them intensely. The Master of Spices stared at him as he took a step back, raising his eyebrows.

“Master Deaton. I think your business can wait this morning’s affairs, surely…”, he said, visibly upset.

“Hardly”, Deaton replied, smiling, as he tilted his head.

“Because I have a measure of my own”, he concluded.

There was uproar in the crowd, and the guards before the High Masters went into a defensive stance, pointing their spears at the common folks and raising their shields against them.

“NOW!”, a voice from the crowd said.

The following events happened all too slowly and all too quickly. The Master of Spices fell back on his rear before a guard helped him up, and he tried to escape. However, they were all blinded by a powerful light.

Ewyn climbed the platform, taking a big leap. She took advantage of the confusion, and Scott and Kira followed. Scott quickly produced a knife and cut down the four men on the gallows, who fell to the wood safely. The guards soon recovered and closed in on them, but Kira and Ewyn began fighting them. Ewyn kept casting dazzling spells to buy them time, and Kira had a sword of her own. She’d been training with Scott for more than a year and she had gotten good with it; though the guards had a lot of discipline.

When Scott was back with them, Ewyn urged them to go down with the crowd while she distracted the guards. She was left with Deaton in the platform, who was taking the Rod of Domination the Master of Spices had dropped during his escape. The Five Masters were already fleeing through the market, commanding for everyone to be killed desperately and hurrying towards the tower wall. In the crowd, rebel slaves fought their unjust masters, those who weren’t part of the conspiration and were trying to have them killed. House slaves were rushing into the square from other parts of the city, making it a chaotic sea of people trying to kill or run.

Deaton raised the Rod in the air, and Sir John took it as his signal. He screamed something at two of the other commanders, and the slaves that kept watch on the top of the tower began running down. John himself hurried down and joined the crowd, unsheathing his sword and helping the slaves that were about to be killed by the City Guard. They fought against each other, because part was still loyal to the Five Masters.

On the other end of the fortress wall, Derek, Boyd and Erica had shredded their cloaks off and were now openly fighting against the unjust masters and their bodyguards.

They were trying to intercept anyone who tried to leave the square through the southern part and flee from the city. There could be no mercy for the slavers.

*

Inside the crowd which gathered behind the platform, Scott and Kira were fighting side by side. They had been cornered by the High Masters’ bodyguards. Scott used a spear and Kira defended herself with the sword, but they were outnumbered and in desperate need for aid.

One of their foes was about to disarm Scott when a woman appeared behind him, breaking a clay jar from one of the posts on the market on his head. She was shouting, and after leaving the man unconscious she had to catch her breath. It was Melissa. Her eyes widened as she looked at Scott with fear.

“SCOTT, NO!”

Scott’s perception of the events became blurry as he turned to look back. One of the guards was charging against him with a spear, trying to run it through him, when Kira appeared from the side and stood between them. Melissa brought her hands to her mouth in horror as she saw Kira being pierced, right through her belly, yelling in pain.

Scott screamed and cursed as she stood on her feet after being hit. She gathered the last of her strength to take hold of her sword and slash the man’s neck in one quick movement. It made him fall over her, sending both to the ground as he quickly bled to death. Scott ran towards her, kneeling on the ground and pushing the man’s corpse aside abruptly.

Kira was shivering, bleeding profusely from her wound and lying on her side because of the spear. Her eyes were watery and she was babbling. Scott was shaking, and he didn’t know what to do, so he held her body tightly and pressed his to her, sobbing.

“Kira!”, he screamed. “Please, Kira”, he said, lowly, his voice desperate.

Ewyn saw it all horrorized, and she rushed through the crowd to get to them. She reached Kira from the other side, surrounding her head with her hands, cupping her cheeks, and trying to comfort her in her agony. Ewyn was also shaking as she tried to cast a healing spell, but it was futile.

The Saur brought a bloodied hand to her own face to choke a sob, and Scott looked at her friend with the most fearful expression Ewyn had ever seen, full of heartbreak.

Kira tried to form her last words, moving her arm slowly to grab Scott’s wrist. Melissa was now by Scott’s side, at Kira’s feet.

“Sc… Scott”, she said, coughing up a bit of blood, which dripped down the sides of her mouth to the cold floor, “Rem… remember…”, she tried, her eyes open wide.

“It was worth it”, she finally managed to say, softly, as she let out a final breath.

Life left her eyes, and Scott squeezed her hand tightly, but she no longer responded to his touch. Melissa pulled his son against her chest and kissed his hair as he cried loudly. Ewyn was staring in horror at Kira, eyeing her bloody hands intermittently.

Allaris roared loudly on the background as he made his appearance in the market, and Ewyn looked up at the dragon with a blank expression.

*

The Masters were about to reach the tower and escape when they heard the roar and turned their heads back to look.

“Kill them all!”, the Master of Spices shouted at the few bodyguards with them. They were containing the crowd, trying to follow their orders, killing even the younger house slaves.  

The Five tried to go forwards only to be met by John’s men, leaving them trapped in the square between two lines of revolutionary City Guard soldiers.

Allaris appeared behind them, flying from the direction of the platform, ridden by Ewyn. She stared down at the Masters, on the verge of tears.

“Allaris, burn them all!”, she shouted, furious. “BURN THEM ALL!”, she repeated, as the beast complied, breathing flame down the Five Masters and scaring away every guard with them.

They instantly dropped their spears and cowered. The Five Masters screamed in agony as they ran around to extinguish the dragonfire, trying to form words but unable to, until their charred bodies dropped dead.

John stared up at Ewyn, with a blank expression, as Allaris landed on the stone ground of the square. A few moments later Ewyn got off the dragon, wearing a cold expression in her eyes.

John understood.

*

In the aftermath of the fight, Ewyn and Deaton were standing in the platform where the Five Masters had been hours before. Deaton handed Ewyn the Rod of Dominance. Allaris was behind them, looking intently at his friend, who held the turquoise rod close to her chest. She spoke up.

“Today many of you will make a choice, for the first time in your lives”, she shouted, her voice unwavering.

“Pentos is no longer a slaver city. You don’t have to serve any masters. You don’t have to join the army. You don’t have to die in vain”, she spoke from her heart, stopping to catch her breath.

“You don’t have to suffer under the yoke of unfair rulers anymore”, she added, with a hint sadness in her eyes that she tried to suppress.

“Today is the day you take the reins of your life and decide your own fate”, she went on, looking proudly at the crowd.

“Everyone is born free, and no one can own you because they can’t take that freedom!”, she shouted, “Today is the day the Purple City, like Sylune, is a free city!”, she concluded emphatically.

There was uproar in the crowd and the people slowly began chanting her name. She smiled down at them, and then looked sideways at Deaton. Melissa and Scott were looking up at her, smiling weakly. John was with them, and he nodded at her, proudly. She could see both pain and joy in the faces of the crowd. It was a victory, but there had been costs, costs they all had to pay.

Close to the tower wall, Derek was leaning against the stone, resting his back. He was caked in blood and dirt from the fight. Erica and Boyd were sitting around him, in pretty much the same state, looking at the crowd chanting Ewyn’s name at the Saur herself. They smiled, and Derek kept staring, focused on Ewyn’s movements.

Ewyn walked up to Deaton and looked in his eyes. She also had some dried blood over her pale skin. Deaton nodded.

She looked back at the crowd, then eyed the turquoise Rod of Domination in her hand and dropped it on the dust with a stern look in her eyes. When it made a thud, as it hit the sandy stone, the uproar became louder. Allaris joined them, taking off to fly over the market, circling around his Saur friend and the newly freed citizens.

As Ewyn truthfully stated, on that day, for the first time in millennia, the two biggest cities in the known world had something in common. Both the Purple City and the Holy City stood proudly as free cities.

**Sylune, January 1018 AN**

During the first month of the year 1018 after Nessaria’s devastation, and five after Belerion’s, King Gerard summoned an urgent Council of the Holy Kingdom in Sylune. Lord Bolton, Lady Martin, Lord Whittemore and Lady Allyson Argent were present together with the King. Lord McCall had been offered a seat, to stand as Syn representation of the Dark Lands, second to the Boltons in the administration of the North. But McCall did not attend.

“I want your aunt to be informed of all we speak here today, so you tell your mother that afterwards, do you hear me?”, Gerard told Allyson angrily, who nodded.

“She’ll send a dove as soon as she can”, Allyson said, looking back at her grandfather. The King let out a sigh and nodded.

“We should address several things today”, he said, still upset. “For instance, Lord Bolton, why isn’t your fellow northerner with us?”

Deucalion coughed and looked at the King with apprehension.

“Lord McCall hasn’t responded to any of my letters”, he said, cautiously. “They have also stopped paying taxes and applying our… measures.”

King Gerard laughed bitterly. “The Dark Lands are basically self-governing and you’re only telling me this now?”, he retaliated, raising his voice and punching the table loudly. His eyes sparked fire.

Deucalion swallowed loudly. “I… I thought it was a misunderstanding.”

“Your little misunderstanding”, the King rasped, “may end as a rebellion in the North!”, he screamed, “and your incompetence is taking away our precious time of action!”

“I’m sorry, your Majesty”, Deucalion said quickly, looking at the King apologetically.

The King glared at him scornfully and then looked around to make eye contact with Natalie Martin. She was wearing a beautiful white dress, but her face didn’t match its animation. She was staring ashamedly at the papers in her side of the table, with her hands crossed.

“Lady Martin”, Gerard began, with a low voice, “Is it true you have no idea where your daughter is?”, he asked, then looking at Jackson. “Or you?”, he spat out, furiously.

The both of them didn’t know what to say. Jackson finally spoke. “We don’t know where Lydia is. She told me nothing about traveling, I swear”, he replied, calm as he could manage.

The King’s features darkened.

“A girl, daughter of a noble Warden, leaves Sylune in times like these, and nobody even notices?”, he asked rhetorically, as his tone grew bitter, “Did she take anything with her? Anyone?”, he inquired, impatient.

“Her handmaiden”, Natalie said, finally speaking “I never saw this coming, your Majesty… I don’t know where she could’ve gone”, she added, nervous and with a hint of sadness in her eyes.

“I hope the rumors about the North aren’t true…”, Allyson said, with a serious voice, looking at her grandfather. She couldn’t stop herself.

“Of course not!”, Gerard spat out. “Those are the tales of scared peasants. McCall is behind this and him alone. Can you shed any light on your friend’s whereabouts, Allyson?”, he said, turning his head to face her.

Allyson denied with her head, because she didn’t want to speak against her best friend and the discussion they’d had months before. What Lydia thought of the Crown. Because it would have her executed.

“I suggest all of you work to find her. Lady Martin, the last our government needs now is more Vallese discontent. We have enough Syns pestering me. Do you understand?”, he asked, glaring at Lady Martin.

Natalie nodded, compliant. “I will do everything I can, your Majesty.”

“Good”, he replied, placing his elbows on the table and lowering his hand to tap the surface methodically.

“And talking about rumors… Allyson, your mother must inform Kate of this the most urgently”, he said.

Allyson raised an eyebrow as she leaned back on the chair, resting her elbow on the armrest and her head on her closed fist.

“Pentos is a free city now. Allaris is very much not a legend, and he has a rider. A Sylunite Holy Mage, no less, called Ewyn. They’re starting to call the commoner the Second Ewyn”, he informed the Council, tilting his head.

“Is that good or bad?”, Jackson asked, raising his eyebrow.

Gerard looked at him, smirking. “It depends on what she does with the dragon, of course. And if she stays in Pentos…”

Lord Deucalion bit his lip and cleared his throat. “I think we should deal with the more imminent matters first.”

Gerard looked at him coldly, but nodded.

“Yes. You should. Because if McCall revolts, he’ll be on your doorsteps first”, he sentenced, scornful.

 

**New Winterfell, February 1018 AN**

Laura arrived in Winterfell under a full moon, and she left her horse tethered outside the city, which was already being rebuilt. The young wolf ran through the cold soil, going towards her former home, once destroyed by the fires of Belerion. She shifted into a wolf. A deep silence permeated the clear night in the northern Dark Lands.

She felt the strong pull of pack towards the place where her family was born. She knew her parents were dead, because she was the alpha. She remembered vividly how she felt their lives fade years ago, the moment she became the head of the family. But now she had a strange feeling, the feeling of pack again, the feeling of another member. The way she only felt with Derek. She shifted back to human, naked, but she didn’t feel the cold.

She rose on her feet and looked forward at the center of Winterfell’s main square, where her uncle Peter stood. Her eyes flashed red before she realized who it was, but then the spark vanished and she went agape. They locked gazes as Peter tilted his head, flashing his own eyes blue, without any display of emotion.

A strong gust of cold wind blew in that moment; and Laura shivered for the first time.

*

Cora, wearing her dark armor, rode Albina in the same night. She was hurrying towards New Winterfell. She had heard the rumors in the Deep North about Lord McCall, and a Hale that had come back to free the Syns from the Boltons. She felt the pull of pack with the full moon, from the south, the way she hadn’t since the Boltons killed her uncle. Since the day she saw it all. It had been that very morning, when she was crossing an icy stream, when she stared at her own reflection. Her lupine eyes flashed yellow, and she realized that feeling the pull of pack and not being an alpha meant others had to live… Laura? Derek?

She needed to find out, to return home.

*

Soon the clouds shrouded the moon and it began snowing. Laura was now dressed in common clothes and a fur coat as she strolled with her uncle in the ghostly square of New Winterfell. He had just given her something to eat and drink after her travels. Peter was also wearing common clothes, with a sword sheathed on his side and a black cloak on his back. Under the fading moonlight, he looked spectrally pale; his eyes, she noticed, a more crystalline blue than she remembered. She stared at him, her eyes still wide with disbelief.

“Where were you all this years?”, Laura asked, astonished.

“Dead”, Peter replied, calmly, looking at the ruined horizon. The snow was beginning to gather under their feet. “I was brought back.”

“By whom?”, Laura asked, looking at him with urgency.

“Stuart Stilinski”, he replied, the truth.

“Laura, I will not lie to you”, Peter said before looking at her, absently extending his palm to gather some of the snowflakes. “We will slay the Boltons, and the Argents will fight us. But we will win; and after this war, he will reign and a Hale will rule the North again”, Peter said calmly.

Laura gaped, taking a step back. He looked at her, with horror in her eyes.

“You couldn’t possibly agree to be his puppet?”, she both stated and asked, desperate.

“I know I can’t ask you to understand”, he replied, putting his arm down again, letting out a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, niece”, he said grievously, averting his look.

“What?”, she said, her eyes wide, as he stared back at her and unsheathed his sword. His eyes flashed blue. She began feeling the wolfsbane in her drink, weakening her muscles. He’d poisoned her.

Her uncle had knelt to the Dark Prince for his life, and he’d betrayed her and the House of Hale. Laura’s pupils shrank and she tried to clench her fist, already unable to.

*

Cora arrived at the gates of New Winterfell, its doors still missing, in time to stop her horse from advancing any further. For the second time she visited in the last four years, her home only greeted her with death. It took more than a few seconds for her to process what she saw.

The square was filled with white snow already, and in the middle of it two figures stood. A man, her dead uncle, was standing with his sword inside her eldest sister’s body. Her alpha’s body. She was kneeling besides him, her hands in the blade, holding it as she bled, drying the snow red and pink. She was coughing up blood and trying to mumble words. She overheard their last conversation.

“You… coward…”, Laura spat out, her eyes flashing red with faltering brightness. She stared up at her uncle, defiant, as she gritted her teeth. Her fangs showed, sharp, when she bared her teeth.

Peter looked down at her, his eyes still regretful.

“I wish there was another way”, he said, as he dug the sword deeper into her guts. She bit her lips in pain.

“D… Derek will cross the sea… come… for you”, she blurted out, with the last of her strength.

Peter looked away as he let go of the sword, and Laura fell back on the snow on her side, bleeding out. She coughed one last time before she let out her final breath, passing away. Her open eyes kept staring at the nothingness, glazed.

Peter sighed, and he clenched his fists as his eyes flashed red. He cracked his joints and tilted his head, feeling the rush of power.

The realization suddenly hit Cora like an avalanche. Her siblings had always been alive, but in exile. She had never thought they were, or that she could search beyond the North. She was hit by a rush of adrenalin and a feeling of urgency she couldn’t shake off.

She had to find Derek, to ask for help and meet her only living family again; Peter was no longer pack. She took hold of the reins of Albina tightly and rode in the snowy night, leaving Winterfell behind for the second time. With a heart burning with rage, she swore to herself this would be the last time she ran away from home.    

 

**Sylune, February 1018 AN**

Jackson was in the Whittemore residence, sitting on his chair, with his legs crossed. He was hitting the armrest with a writing feather repeatedly. He bit his lip nervously, staring up at the two cloaked figures in his room. Parrish took off his hood and Meredith simply stayed where she was, looking absently at the feather’s motion.

Jackson let out a sigh.

“You’ve been alive all this time and hiding?” Why?”, he demanded, getting riled up. “How did you even come back?”

Parrish stared him down.

“Because I had to. We entered Sylune through Clearwaters, but that’s not important. We have news from Lydia”, he said, calmly. Jackson huffed.

“Jackson, what I have to tell you is very important.”

Jackson’s eyebrows rose, but he was still angry.

“Lydia’s in Dragon’s End, with Prince Stuart Stilinski”, he said, carefully.

Jackson scowled. “What? Stuart is alive?”, he screamed.

“Lower your voice”, Parrish commanded, scowling too. “Listen to me. I was with Stuart the day everything went down. Lydia’s investigated and that’s why she and Allyson don’t talk anymore”, he explained, in a hushed tone.

Jackson tilted his head.

“Stuart isn’t guilty”, he deadpanned, “That is the truth.”

Jackson let out a chuckle. “You really expect me to believe that, after all these years?”, he said, scornful, “I… I was on my own”.

Parrish’s look hardened. “I wouldn’t lie to you. Don’t you trust Lydia?”, he added, his tone impassive, though he hated that Jackson had to go through so much loneliness after his brother’s death.

“Do you trust me?”, he asked, more emphatically.

Jackson sighed and averted his gaze. “Look, this is just too much. I hated him and all he’s done to Lydia”, Jackson replied, looking back at his uncle defiant.

“He’s done nothing to Lydia”, Parrish blurted out. “But he’s done something for you.”

Jackson quirked his eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”

Parrish let out a deep breath and walked towards Jackson, who stood up. Their gazes locked as Jackson rose.

“This is about your real mother”, Parrish said. “Your father never got to tell you…”, he said, softly.

Jackson cleared his throat, shocked. He was silent for some seconds.

“Just tell me”, he demanded.

Parrish looked at him, serious. “The rumors about Peter Hale are true. He’s back and he will fight for Stuart’s cause against the Argents”, he began. Jackson kept staring at him, furrowing his brow.

“He is your mother, Jackson”, Parrish said, calmly. “You have Syn blood.”

Jackson gaped and his eyes widened. He tried to say something, but he just closed with mouth and kept staring at Parrish.

“You… you always knew?”, he finally managed to say, with a weak voice.

Parrish nodded. “It wasn’t my place to tell you”, he admitted, sighing, “But now you know why your father pacted with him for the betrothal of Cora Hale. Peter… asked him to”, he said, grievous.

Jackson raised his eyebrows again. “Is… is it true then, that the Boltons pacted with the Argents…?”

Parrish nodded. “Trust me, Jackson. Everything I’ve done, it’s been for a good reason”, he said.

Jackson’s feather was long forgotten in the table, and he clenched his fist.

Parrish cleared his throat. “Your father wants to meet you”, he said.

Jackson stared at him in horror. He was overwhelmed by the information. It was too much; about Stuart, his father and Peter Hale, Parrish… and Lydia. He didn’t know how he felt anymore. Nothing made sense, and yet things seemed to start fitting in his head, like pieces of a puzzle Lydia had already solved.

“I… I need time, uncle”, he replied, taking a step back.

Meredith, who was now sitting on a chair, looked at him and nodded. “Lydia said you’d come to an understanding, eventually…”

Jackson looked at her, but said nothing. He paced around until he was close to the door, then he punched the wooden frame hard.

He groaned, having hurt his hand so badly it started bleeding.

*

On the other end of the closed door, Isaac was startled when he heard the frame shake and a loud groan. It was followed by hissing from the other side.

He was eavesdropping, and the lad hadn’t heard the conversation with clarity, but he’d picked up enough. Stuart was alive and Peter Hale was against the Argents. He needed to tell Allyson. Isaac took a few steps backwards discreetly, and when he had turned around the corner, he ran away through the corridors. He had to get away and find the Princess.

He couldn’t explain why, but even after all these years, the memory of Stuart still shook him profoundly and left him with a sensation of unease. Like the menacing darkness looming over the House of Argent, the same darkness that had taken away his friend Scott years ago, and that now threatened Allyson. He had to do something.

**Pentos, February 1018 AN**

Melissa was leaning against the window as John paced around nervously, out of his armor. It was night, and they were in Melissa’s. The days were now filled with hectic activity, since Deaton had become one of the ruling merchants in the new government of Pentos. They had little chance to speak because there was always so much to be done. Freeing the slaves had altered the economy and posited problems the rulers would have to solve. Deaton was trying to do his best, but it was time-consuming.

“Ewyn spends all her time with him”, Melissa said, sighing, “but I don’t know what to do. The death of Kira has hit him hard…”

“He needs a reason to move on”, he sighed. “You know how it feels. The world goes on and everything you love is gone. Like when… my son…”, he tried to say, looking sadly at Melissa.

Melissa got closer to him and pulled him for a hug, shushing him. “It was terrible. But we moved on. There’s nothing else we can do.”

John broke the hug and wiped a tear that hadn’t formed yet from his eye. He nodded too, and took a deep breath.

“We went on because we had to take care of them”, he said.

Melissa smiled. “Yeah. We still do. But they’ve grown up so much. I don’t like to feel like I can’t protect him from everything… but I can’t”, she admitted, sorrowful.

John squeezed her shoulder. “That’s why you should tell him the truth about his father. He deserves to know who’s behind the Syn revolt.”

“But what good would it do to him?”, she asked, running her hands through her hair. “I don’t think he’s going to ask for a while…”

“You’re just delaying it”, John said with a rough voice.

She looked away.

“Maybe… what do you think will happen in the North?”

John bit his lip, looking at her and raising his eyebrows. “I wish I knew…”

*

Ewyn overheard the conversation, from the side of the open door, leaning against the wall. She had gone up to Melissa’s room to tell her that Scott was feeling a bit better, but she’d heard her name mentioned and stopped to eavesdrop. When she’d heard enough, she went directly to Scott’s room, opening the door loudly.

Scott was sitting on his bed, already in his night clothes, ready to sleep. There were furs on the lower part of bed, curled up, ready to be used for protection against the chill of the night. He slowly looked up at Ewyn, who was panting with flushed cheeks. He wasn’t as lively as usual, and he didn’t even feel much curiosity about whatever she had to say. He appreciated her company, but he felt lonely anyway, and he wanted to rest; he was exhausted from the day. When he saw her gaping, he asked anyway.

“What is it?”, he rasped, after clearing his throat.

“I overheard John and your mom talking”, she said, catching her breath and raising her eyebrows. “I know it all! I know who your father is!”

Scott’s eyes widened. He felt a surge of adrenalin running through his body, and he stood up to get closer to Ewyn. She did the same and put her hands on his shoulders, squeezing him.

“You remember about the Syn insubordination in the Dark Lands, right? That they stopped paying fealty to Lord Bolton or whatever.”

Scott nodded, looking at her confused.

“The one behind it! Lord Rafael McCall! He’s your father, you’re half-Syn!”, Ewyn blurted out, excited.

Scott’s jaw dropped to the floor. He kept staring at Ewyn.

“Are you serious?”, he said, with both horror and amazement in his eyes.

Ewyn nodded emphatically as she licked her lip. “Isn’t this what you’ve wondered all your life? What do you think?”

Scott let out a sigh and took a step back. He ran a hand through his head and paced nervous. Ewyn was jittery, taping her foot repeatedly on the floor.

Scott cleared his throat. “First I have to talk to my mother…”, he said, resolute, waiting some moments before speaking again, staring at her.

“And then I’ll go North.”

Ewyn’s eyes widened. “Just like that? Also, are you going to tell her I blabbed out?”, she inquired, curious.

Scott smiled at her weakly.

“It doesn’t matter… and yeah. I don’t want to stay here. I feel I should go. Like you said, I’ve been wondering all my life. I need to know what’s happening there. I need answers.”

Ewyn tilted her head. “I guess I understand. I also need lots of answers…”, she said, thoughtful.

“Maybe I’ll get some there?”, she added, nonchalantly.

Scott frowned. “Do you mean you’re coming?”, he asked in disbelief.

“You didn’t think I’d let you go alone, certainly?”, she replied, smirking, and raising an eyebrow.

Scott smiled. “You’re the best”, he said, getting close to her and pulling the Saur for a hug, almost crushing her.

“Ouch”, she said, awkwardly patting him on his back.

“Right, right”, she added.

When they broke the hug and Ewyn could breathe again, she smiled at him. “I’ll go, if Melissa doesn’t kill me”, she added.

Scott laughed loudly and felt a pressure lift from his shoulders for the first time in months.

*

Ewyn and Scott high-fived each other as Melissa sank her face on her palms. John looked at the both of them as if they were crazy and let out a sigh.

“I’m already regretting this idea”, he said, almost groaning.

Melissa glowered at Ewyn. “Young lady”, she said, “you don’t believe for one second this is settled.”

Scott laughed. “Mom, give her a break”, he said, fondly, “we think it’s what we need right now.”

“It’s true”, Ewyn said, flailing as Melissa kept giving her the stink eye. “Scott needs fresh air. Or cold air, whatever. And… I don’t want all the attention here in Pentos…”

John squeezed her shoulder and Melissa’s, standing between them. “Maybe the girl is right”, he said, looking at Melissa. “You don’t have to come”, he said, staring at her. “I’ll take care of them. But I have to go…”, he started saying as his voice became less joyous.

“I have to find out if there’s anything after the dark rumors…”

Melissa smiled at him. “I’m not letting you go anywhere without me. Who’ll take care of you then?”, she said, fondly. John scoffed.

Ewyn pulled John closer. “Hey! Are you saying I can’t take care of him?”, she said, staring at Melissa.

Melissa licked her lip. “Don’t even get me started”, she replied, showing Ewyn her the palm of her hand and closing her eyes shut.

Deaton appeared from behind. The four of them stopped their bickering to look at him with blank expressions.

“Look at you, like a little family”, he said amused.

“We are”, Scott replied, fondly, also half-embracing Ewyn. She smirked.

“I’ll tell you everything you need to know about the Dark Lands”, he said, “Although John already knows most about it”, he concluded, as he turned to leave. “Follow me.”

The older adults went after him quickly; leaving Scott and Ewyn behind, looking at them walk away. “We should go”, Ewyn said.

“Hey…”, Scott ventured, hesitant. “What about Allaris?”, he asked, raising his eyebrow.

Ewyn sighed. “Allaris is a free spirit”, she said, with a bit of longing in her eyes. She looked at Scott with a big smile. “But you’re my best friend”, she said.

He smiled and pulled her for another hug.

“I’m glad you took that ship with us”, he said softly against her neck.

“Me too”, Ewyn replied, sincere.

 

**Sylune, February 1018 AN**

Allyson was training on her own in the Argent gardens, the crescent moon high in the sky and the ground a dark shade of green. She heard a noise and her eyes went wide, her pupils blown in the darkness. She turned her head to look at one of the passages through the bushes, and soon Isaac appeared running. He came from the Whittemore District, in his armor and with his enchanted thunder blade lighting the way. He was looking behind himself repeatedly, and he looked upset.

When he arrived where she was and stopped to catch his breath, she looked at him.

“What’s going on?”, she said, eyeing briefly behind him, but finding nothing.

“I think I was followed”, he said, turning to face the bushes.

Another noise sounded and then there were two dim yellow lights, almost imperceptible. After they faded there was a low rumbling noise followed by a louder growl, and both of them took a step back, looking at each other. Allyson moved her feet silently, and stared at the darkness intently, but she didn’t manage to see anything.

Then a wolf pounced, landing in front of them. Allyson quickly aimed at the animal with an arrow and Isaac assumed a defensive stance, wielding the raging blade. The wolf flashed its eyes again, but didn’t advance towards them. The tension became unbearable.

Isaac eyed Allyson briefly and took a step forward, showing his palm to the animal. “It’s okay. Shh”, he ventured.

Allyson rolled her eyes. 

“Do you really think that’s going to work?”, she whispered.

The wolf then began to shift, staying where she was but becoming more human, all the process enshrouded by a grey smoke. Then there was no wolf, but a woman. Allyson and Isaac stared at the black-haired woman dumbfounded. She rose to her feet, shaking some dirt from her naked body.

“I’m Cora Hale”, she rasped, looking at them blankly.

Isaac gaped and Allyson’s eyes widened again.

*

The three of them were sitting in one of the haystacks in the stables, with the moon still high in the sky, talking. They’d brought clothes and a fur coat for Cora because the night was cold in the open, even in Sylune.

“I followed you because I knew you’d lead me to Allyson. And I couldn’t find anyone in the Martin district”, she explained, looking at Isaac serious.

Allyson raised an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you go to the Palace?”, she asked.

Cora let out a sigh. “I’m not sure this is a good idea. Trust me; I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t my last resort. I don’t like your family”, she said, without any consideration, as Allyson blinked and Isaac scowled.

“But the rumors about Peter Hale are true. And he’s killed my sister Laura. And, my brother Derek is alive”, she added, with an admixture of emotions in her voice, but full of resolve. “I want to find him”, she continued, determined, “and I’ll make Peter pay for what he’s done”, she sentenced.

Allyson raised her eyebrows. “Woah, woah. You say you will fight for my family against the northern insurrection?”

Cora scowled. “I will avenge my sister and the North will be ruled by the true Hales again!”, she replied, getting riled up. “Princess”, she concluded, scornful.

Isaac sat between them to alleviate the tension.

“Girls, calm down”, he said, “I know you don’t get on well. But Allyson, I must tell you something too, it’s… why I came…”, he added, anxiously.

He looked at Cora. “The reason you didn’t see Lydia in her District is because she’s missing from Sylune.”

Cora raised her eyebrows as Isaac cleared his throat.

“Allyson, I overheard something terrible from Jackson. He was talking to two strangers”, he said, hesitant. “I… I think one of them was Sir Parrish… that he’s alive”, he blurted, feeling his heart beat faster.

Allyson took his hand. “Just tell me. It can’t be anything worse than Lydia…”

Isaac swallowed before continuing. Cora stared at him intently.

“It’s all true, all that we feared. Lydia is with Stuart in Dragon’s End. And Stuart commands Peter…”, he said, his eyes injected in fear. He turned to face Cora again. “That must be the reason he killed your sister.”

Allyson gaped and brought an arm to her mouth, then turning to look at Cora. “Do you think Stuart is behind that?”

“I don’t know”, Cora shouted, clenching her fist and biting her lip so hard it drew blood, looking at them enraged.

“But they will all pay, I swear for my honor as a Syn”, the Icy Wolf sentenced.

Allyson and Isaac kept staring, agape. She held their gaze.

*

Isaac and Cora were standing in front of Allyson. Allyson hugged Isaac briefly and then took a step back, nodding at both of them. Cora looked at Allyson too.

“Will you do as we agreed?”, she asked, tilting her head.

Isaac stared at Allyson too. The Scaled Princess nodded again. “It’s the best. Lydia is still my best friend. This is all happening too fast”, she replied, stressed, “But if I tell my grandfather about Jackson, it’s as good as sentencing them both to death.”

Isaac nodded, with a sad look.

Cora put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Keep a close eye on Jackson”, she said, “and I’ll search for my brother with Isaac. When Jackson notices he’s gone, he’ll become more uneasy. Try to make him confess.”

Allyson smiled weakly. “I will. I hope I can talk him and Lydia out of this… somehow. Him, at least…”, she ventured, trying to be hopeful.

Cora turned to leave, still staring at her. “If you can’t, they’ll both be enemies of the Crown. I don’t know what lies Stuart has told them, but if that bastard is still alive I’ll take him down myself”, she spat out, angry.

Isaac followed after her when she walked away. He gave Allyson one last forlorn look

She waved him goodbye, tightening the hold on her arch.

 

**The Strait, March 1018 AN**

As the night was giving place to the first lights, two ships crossed paths in the Strait, close to the Bay of Pentos.

On the prow of one of them, that had just left Pentos for somewhere in the North, Ewyn and Scott were leaning on the rail, looking at the distance. They saw another ship, which came from Sylune, not too far. They could venture some shapes on that ship, but what called Ewyn’s attention was one bright blue light emanating from one of the figures. She thought it must be a frost incantation, and a very powerful one at that.

She elbowed Scott and furrowed her brow as their ship sailed deeper into the Strait, crashing against the dark waves. They left their neighbor behind and it made the light invisible from their location.

*

On the other ship, Cora and Isaac were looking at the Pentosi night sky in the horizon, their destination. They left the birthing sun behind them with Sylune and the ship they’d just come across. She needed to find his brother and to make things right again for her family and the North. Even if she had to put up with the Argents; not even the Scaled compared to her hatred against the Dark Prince’s name.

Cora’s ice blade shone with a strong blue glow against the darkness that surrounded them, to drive the night away.

 

**Osternis, March 1018 AN**

It was already late in the month of March when Jackson and his uncle Parrish advanced through the green fields of Osternis on horseback. One could already smell the first hint of spring in the air. It was a bright morning, and the rays of the sun heated up the fields. The ground, frozen slightly during the night, was thawing. Behind them, most of the Vallese bannermen in the Meadows, the Riverlands, Dawn Fields and of course Osternis ensued, summing up around ten thousand men.

They made their way through the Ashen Road, traveling to the highlands of Grizzly Hills in the North, where they’d arrive in a few days, probably in the fourth month. They crossed small villages around it, and the numerous and renowned Osternis vineyards around the western banks of Clearwaters. The flowers were already blooming in a rainbow of colors scattered around the wet grass.

During the last few weeks, Jackson had considered Parrish’s offer and finally accepted. Parrish had stayed in a little town close to Sylune during the time, and simply sent doves to Dragon’s End to let Stuart know that Jackson had agreed. In Sylune, before Allyson could even talk to him in private, he commanded the Martin men and his own to leave the Holy City and march North as soon as possible.

Sir Parrish, in the Whittemore name, called the men from around the Valley that were less friendly to the Saur court to stand up for Lord Whittemore and Lady Martin in favor of the Syn cause. And in that way, the plan Stuart, Lydia and he had devised started to unfurl.

Parrish commanded the men to stop for a break as he and Jackson got off their horses. Jackson was wearing his Saur armor, and Parrish was wearing his Nyctian fire armor, with orange and golden hues and a fiery helmet. He wielded both his flame blade and his dragon shield.

Jackson spat on the ground. “Do you think they’d obey as readily if they knew who’s really giving the orders?”, Jackson said.

Yes, Stuart was behind the Syn rebellion. But by the time the soldiers knew, they’d be just pawns in the game of thrones. They’d prefer a chance in the new regime of the Nyctian, rather than being seen as traitors by King Gerard. It wasn’t fair, but war never was. Parrish just did what was in their hand to thrive, because, after all, the Argents and the Boltons had deceived the whole Holy Kingdom.

Parrish smiled at him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Nephew”, he said, cheerily, “these men loved your father and the Stilinskis. Gerard was never held in high regard”, he admitted.

Jackson raised his eyebrows, reminiscing the man he got his name from. “Lord Whittemore. But will they obey my other father? Peter”, he asked, curious, “A Syn?”, he added, hesitant.

Parrish took off his hand and took a deep breath. “Yes. Because of the Whittemore name and because the Vallese are loyal to you”, he said. “Every peasant in the Valley is still apprehensive of Belerion and the ones who keep him”, he added.

“So when I meet my father…”, Jackson ventured, uncertain.

“Our armies will join”, Parrish said, proudly, “and you’ll command your own men. You’ll fight as father and son”, he continued solemnly, “… they won’t stand against family”, he concluded.

Jackson smiled proudly. For the first time in his life, he felt belonging. Those men would fight for him because he’d prove himself worthy of their fealty. He’d assume his responsibility to the Vallese and help bring justice to the Kingdom. If not, all of them would be executed…

“Will I see Lydia?”, he asked, with a less cheery expression.

Parrish nodded, his face stern. “Eventually. Now you should focus on the upcoming war”, he said.

“You have no battle experience”, he warned.

Jackson looked at him as they strolled towards some men that were already setting temporary military tents for the camp. His expression became blank, realizing he had good intentions but little idea of how to bring them to completion.

“Don’t you worry, though”, Parrish said, reassuringly. “I’ll be with you”, he said, “and I will teach you what my brother couldn’t”, he said sadly, with longing in his eyes.

Jackson nodded, smiling weakly. “What should we do now?”, he asked.

Parrish pulled him close for a half-embrace, looking at him fondly from his side.

“Well I, don’t know about you, but I’m starving”, he replied, cheerily, “So what about some breakfast?”, he asked, raising his eyebrows.

Jackson nodded, smiling.    

 

**Dragon’s End, March 1018 AN**

Close to Raszira’s rest, Stuart was in his chambers, bathing in the pool. He was naked in the hot waters, sitting and leaning against the wall with the water up to his chest. His arms were resting over the edges, speckled with water droplets. They were shiny with the red midday sun, that came in through the big terrace outside the cave. He was running his hands over his dark, damp hair to get his fringe out of his forehead when Lydia appeared.

She was wearing only a dark silk see-through robe when she stopped walking before the first step. Her hair had been dyed black and her eyes were more violet than her usual blue. The steam reached her and her cheeks flushed as she looked at him, licking her big red lips. She smirked.

“Our little birds have told the Dark Sister a large army has left Sylune”, she announced, cheerily, “slamming the King with the door in his face.”

Stuart smiled back at her. “Excellent”, he celebrated, “I have to admit your idea with little Jackson came in handy…”

She raised her eyebrows and let out a loud laugh. “You can do better than half-assed gratitude”, she added, “I may not be a military mastermind yet but”, she added, smugly, “My plan is brilliant.”

Stuart openly smirked now, putting his arms back on the edge and tilting his head to expose his neck and chest.

“Oh really? You think you’re that irreplaceable?”, he replied, teasing her.

She took off her robe, letting let it fall slowly down her body, collapsing silently on the floor. Then she started walking forward, entering the water, walking and then swimming towards him. She caged him with her arms around his sides, and she straddled his legs under the waters. He put an arm around her cheek, picking up a strand of her dark hair.

“You’re paler”, he said, his voice soft. “It’s beautiful”, he added, simply.

Lydia kept leering as she smiled. She sat down on his thighs and he hissed lowly. “I’ll catch up quickly with the skills here”, she said, confident. “Even Meredith is finding herself comfortable with the hidden knowledge…”, she said, close to his ear, almost a whisper.

She put her hands around his neck and he kept looking up at her, licking his lips.

“I’m sure”, he said tightly, “that you’ll be one of the best necromancers in the ridge”, he continued, his voice ragged.

She was grinding slowly against him, rolling her hips delicately. Her pupils were blown as she looked at him agape.

Their gazes locked and he moved his hand under the water to reach between her legs, where he brushed her clit with his thumb. She sped up her slow, rhythmic motions as she arched back, exposing her breasts to him. He gritted his teeth.

He brought his other hand up and cupped one of her breasts as she looked back at him. He kept staring as he held it lightly. She let out a deep sigh. Lydia then put her hand between Stuart’s legs, grabbing his length and brushing it against her opening, getting up slightly and sitting down, eliciting a loud groan as his hold on her breast and hip tightened. When he was fully inside her, she moaned and stilled, one of her hands pressed firmly against his taught chest, as she looked straight into his violet eyes. He was open-mouthed now, panting. She began moving, at first slowly.

“I…”, she rasped, trying to speak, “I will”, she finally said.

He moved her hands to her sides and then down to her hips, rolling his own nicely to meet her movements as they both neared climax. She started moaning and speeding up and Stuart closed his eyes, his mouth still open and letting out some moans of his own.

“I… I’ll kill them all”, Stuart said, wrecked, “I’ll put down all the Argents myself”, he continued, breathing fast and shallow. Lydia bit her lip.

When they came, Stuart grunted and Lydia let out a scream of pleasure, moving slowly to ride the aftershocks and then falling to an easy embrace. They closed their eyes and Stuart let out a contented sigh.

*

Later they were lying in Stuart’s bed, with only a blanket over them. Lydia was moving her hand close to his chest, resting her head over his shoulder, from his side. She let out a deep sigh.

“We have to be careful, though”, she said, slowly.

“Hm?”, Stuart replied, sleepily.

“The Dark Sister told me today”, she went on, explaining, “That you have to work hard to earn someone’s loyalty”, she quoted, “but that it’s as easy as doing nothing, or a misunderstanding, to turn someone against you”, she added.

Stuart huffed. “She’s right. Why do you bring it up, though?”, he asked, curiously raising an eyebrow at her, turning his face to look.

She tapped her fingers against his chest, bringing her arm closer to him. “That we shouldn’t take Jackson for granted. Maybe now he’s doing what you want, but later…”

Stuart smiled, not allowing her to finish.

“I don’t take Jackson for granted”, he explained calmly, “but I’ve got Peter in my clutches”, he said, grinning, “and Parrish will take it from there”, he continued, yawning.

Lydia nodded, absently. “I guess”, she replied.

Stuart nodded back and shifted to look at the ceiling.

“One more thing”, Lydia said, looking at him with a sorrowful look.

“What is it?”, he said, emotionless.

“What you said before about Belerion and the Argents…”, she ventured, swallowing. “Allyson doesn’t know. She didn’t listen to me, never believed me…”, she said regretfully.

Stuart looked at her sternly.

“Unless you can turn her against her own family in this war”, he added, coldly, “She will die too. Everyone who is against us”, he sentenced.

Lydia stared at the ceiling, wide-eyed.

“Allyson…”, she whispered, troubled.

“I wish there was another way…”, she mumbled to herself, in even a lower tone.

But there wasn’t; not at this point, Lydia thought.     


	5. Siege of Ashenfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New update! 
> 
> Five years after the fire, the Argents and the Boltons start reaping what they sowed. The North stirs, and a new war is about to befall the Holy Kingdom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think about the course of events!

**Pentos, March 1018 AN**

Isaac and Cora Hale arrived in Pentos and ended up in Deaton’s mansion, where she unexpectedly found the man she already knew. She remembered him from his visits to her mother, back in Winterfell. He received them well; and the sundown after their arrival the three of them were sitting by the balcony.

“I’m sorry I made you wait”, Deaton said, “but as you probably know, the situation in Pentos is now frenetic… I’m now part of the ruling Council of the city”, he explained.

He looked at Cora and smiled. “I still can’t believe you’re alive…”, he said, fondly, “I remember you as a child”, he said.

Cora’s expression remained unfazed and cold.

“That’s of the past now”, she deadpanned. “We’re here because I want to find my brother”, she said, getting straight to the point.

Isaac looked at her hesitantly but then he stared back at Deaton, nodding. “I come on behalf of Allyson Argent, Princess of the Holy Kingdom”, he said solemnly.

Deaton furrowed his brow as something seemed to click in his mind.

“So Derek Hale is alive…”, he blurted out, smiling. “I’ve been a fool for not realizing before”, he said.

Isaac and Cora looked at each other, confused.

Deaton explained. “You’ve surely heard about Ewyn the Sylunite”, he ventured, raising his eyebrow at them. Cora furrowed her brow, but Isaac nodded emphatically.

He looked at her. “I’ll explain later”, he replied to her silent question, looking back at Deaton. Cora squinted her eyes at him, but did nothing.

Deaton continued. “She lived here with me, and with Melissa. They fled Sylune on the Day of Fire and I gave them shelter beyond the Strait”, he said, softly.

 “Anyway”, Deaton continued, “the point is that there is a mercenary party that defends our city from the Sehari. Ewyn was always talking about two Syn siblings”, he said, “I never thought…”, he continued, hesitant.

“Laura was alive too”, Cora blurted out, gritting her teeth, “until my uncle Peter killed her”, she rasped, bitterly.

Deaton’s eyes widened as he gaped. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Peter Hale is also alive?”, he asked, in shock, unable to restrain the question.

“Stuart Stilinski resurrected him”, Isaac added, with an expression of worry directed at the Pentosi.

Deaton remained silent, trying to believe their words. If it was true, apparently, few people stayed dead in the Holy Kingdom.

“Well, that’s all a lot to take in”, he finally said, clearing his throat.

“I…. I never thought the rumors could be true…”, he continued, looking worriedly at Cora.

Cora clenched her fist. “That’s why I must find Derek. So, if you can tell me where he could be here in Pentos, that’d be great”, she replied, still upset.

Deaton nodded. “I will”, he said.

Isaac smiled weakly, trying to soothe the tension between the two. The surprise and urgency didn’t let Deaton act as compassionate as he’d have liked, and Cora wasn’t accepting any commiseration. Her time in the Deep North had rendered her unkind, feral even, fighting beasts with her teeth every day and not talking a word in human tongue for months. However, it had been the most allegedly noble of humans that brought about her misery in the first place. The monsters which made her into what she was now weren’t born into the dirt of a bed of cold leaves, but highborn cradles.

Isaac stopped looking at Cora to stare at Deaton. He was about to say something, hesitant, and he finally managed to while Cora was silent.

“Did you say Melissa before?”, he ventured, quirking his eyebrow.

“Yes”, Deaton said, with his hand on his chin. “Melissa, the handmaiden of Queen Claudia”, he continued.

“Is Scott alive?”, Isaac blurted out quick and loud, his eyes filled with hope.

Deaton smiled, though his eyes showed a bit of worry.

“Yes. But the two of them left recently, with Sir John, the former King”, he explained.

“They’ve gone North”, he finally said.

Isaac swallowed and leaned back on his chair.

“Why?”, he rasped, nervous.

“Lord Rafael McCall is Scott’s father”, Deaton replied, sorrowful.

“Oh”, Isaac said, absently, and he ran a hand through his hair.

Cora bit her lip and turned her head to look at him. She took his hand a bit too abruptly, but she was frustrated.

“We’ll find them”, she reassured him.

Isaac managed to give her a weak smile.

*

When Cora met her brother, she embraced him so tightly that she almost crushed his ribs.

They stayed like that for minutes, and finally Cora started sobbing disconsolately, reaching her limit after holding the tears back for so long. Derek ran his hand through her hair softly and whispered comforting words to her ear, to calm her down.

She finally broke the hug and wiped the tears away with her fingers, clearing her throat. They were in their own room at an inn, in Pentos, close to the harbor.

They remained in silence, alone, for the time until Derek’s friends and Isaac came in. She learned he was living with two comrades; Boyd, a Summer Islander, and Erica, a Sylunite.  

She felt light-headed and clouded with emotion, as if floating in a cloud. Cora had a warm feeling in her chest that she hadn’t felt for long. That’s why she didn’t take in the room until later, when they were all together. It was simple, with three beds and little furniture, and a window that overlooked the Strait. From it, she could see the dark blue surface of the sea, still as it always is before a storm. It was already getting dark that day. The signs of bad weather reminded her that her relief just masked pain, but she let herself feel it for a moment.

She just smiled weakly at his brother, and he held her hand, looking back fondly at her. She’d forgotten what it was like to feel like family and pack. That’s why the sting of loss hurt so much. She didn’t know how to break the news.  

“Where have you been all this time?”, he asked, his voice rough but happy.

“In the Deep North”, she stated, and she took her sheathed sword to show him the blade. “I got this”, she added, handing it over to him.

Derek took it and his eyes widened when he realized it was Ragnar’s Tear.

“How did you get this?”, he asked agape, eyes going wide in shock.

Cora’s smile widened even more. “I killed its guardian”, she replied simply, and Derek seemed to understand in spite of everyone’s curiosity.

She took it back and put it in the sheath. “I’ve trained hard”, she explained, “I traveled all the Dark Lands and the northern coast, looking for you, but I thought… that you…”, she tried, hesitant and getting emotional in spite of herself.

Derek put his hands over her shoulders and nodded slowly.

“It’s okay”, he said softly, offering a warm smile to let her know it was. It would be as long as they were together.  

“How did you know I was here?”, he said.

Cora bit her lip worriedly, and looked at him as her eyes became watery again. She couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Derek”, she said, choking a sob. Derek’s expression changed.

“I saw Laura in Winterfell… Peter killed her”, she said, raising her tone.

Derek’s eyes widened in shock.

He dropped his hand from her shoulder and it went limp.

“What?”, he blurted out reflexively, his eyes vacant.

“Laura is dead!”, Cora screamed back, with tears filling her eyes.

She felt the hurt again. Her sister was dead and nothing could change that.  Derek needed to know, even if it broke her heart to mention it.

Derek swallowed loudly as his expression filled with horror. Everyone in the room stared at their own feet, not knowing what to say or do.

*

Later that night, Cora and Derek were alone outside the inn, close to the sea. It was already night, a storm brewing, and they had stepped into the beach next to the harbor. Both of them looked distraught.

“We need to go back”, he rasped, with a low voice, “I was an idiot… I should’ve listened to her”, he said, with a lump in his throat.

Cora went still and turned her head suddenly, looking angrily at him.

“You don’t get to blame this on yourself!”, she blurted out, bursting with suppressed anger.

 “Derek, you’re all I have left…”, Cora went on, her voice wavering. “Peter is to blame for this, and him alone!”, she screamed at her brother, furious, her eyes went glassy.

“He will pay for Laura”, Derek offered, gritting his teeth. His eyes were still sad, but he was suppressing his anger too. His forearm muscles tensed as he clenched his fists.  

Cora looked at his eyes, devastated, and their lost gazes locked.

“He will”, she rasped.

*

Back inside the inn, by a fireplace, Erica and Boyd were chatting with Isaac. The three of them hit it off very quickly, and soon they were sharing traveling experiences and anecdotes from each other’s past. Cora and Derek were sitting behind them, in two chairs by a small table. They were gulping down mugs of Pentosi sweet ale, mostly listening to them.

Cora looked at his brother and raised her eyebrows.

“You didn’t tell me you’d met this Allaris”, she said. “Even I heard rumors of that”, she deadpanned, as she raised her mug to drink again.

She liked the buzz it provided, especially tonight. It made everything duller, including pain. She’d regret it in the morning, though.

Derek raised his eyebrows in response too.

“So what, another flying lizard. The world would be better without them”, he said without much conviction.

“Maybe the Argents will use them against Peter!”, she pointed out angrily.

Derek let down his mug loudly.

“Cora”, he growled lowly, “He commands the Syns, our people, get a grip”, he added, “Do you have any idea how many people would die if King Gerard unleashed Belerion to stop this insurrection?”, he said.

“So what do you propose?”, she replied angrily, scowling. When he didn’t respond, she went on.

“To sit back and do nothing while he wins and Stuart kills us all?”, she said, “Would you rather have him unleash Belerion again?”, she added, raising her voice, “Because that didn’t go so well last time!”, she concluded, averting her gaze.

Derek let out a deep sigh.

“Cora. The only thing I’m saying is that the northerners are our people. We have to take every Syn life into account”, he said with an intense gaze, when she looked back at him, “That’s what mother taught us.”

Cora raised her eyebrows.

“We need to make them know the truth about Peter; that’s what Laura deserves”, he concluded solemnly.

Cora scoffed.

“Oh, if we wait, they will know eventually!”, she blurted out, “When Stuart rules with the Martin girl as his bitch Queen, and he’s in Winterfell”, she added, worried, “the uncontested, rightful Hale alpha!”, she mocked.

“You honorable fool, we just can’t!”, she added, raising her tone with an unshakable feeling of urgency, “You don’t get it. I’ve been in the wilderness for years. The real monsters are plotting behind war tables”, she ranted.

“There’s no such thing as an honorable, diplomatic solution to this.”

Derek bit his lip worriedly, looking sideways at her. It hurt him to realize, but he actually understood what it was about. He wasn’t a fool; he’d just never shook the fantasy of the Eastern Kingdom as a place more civilized than the desert.

But his notion had been proven wrong by history and in his own lifetime. The reality of the situation hit him like a bucket of cold water.   

“Then we need to stop him, but him alone”, he concluded.

Cora let out a sigh of her own, staring at the empty bottom of her mug.

They heard a cough from the next row and both looked at Isaac quickly, who had turned his head to look at them.

“Hey…”, he said, looking at Derek, and then at Cora. “I know you two guys aren’t the biggest fans of the Argents, but Allyson is really a good person”, he ventured, looking at them hesitantly.

Cora stared at him, and seemed to find what she was looking for, because her anger vanished from her face and she simply nodded.

“She wasn’t that bad, I guess”, she said, turning to face Derek. Derek raised an eyebrow.

“Gerard is a total douche, though”, Isaac said, smirking, and both wolves Jerked their head to look at him at once.

Derek openly laughed; the tension of his previous conversation dissipating.

“I like this one”, he said amusedly, looking briefly her sister.

Cora smiled, letting go of the dread of war too.

There would be time for it.

*

Boyd and Erica were right outside, staring at the dark silhouettes of the Bay and listening to the sounds of the night. Derek went out for some fresh air and met them, feeling the chilly breeze of the night against his smooth skin. He ran a hand through his stubble, absent-mindedly.

He looked at them and smiled weakly, walking and staying by Erica’s side, looking over at Boyd.

“I wanted to talk to you”, he announced, serious, making his mouth a line.

He looked at both of them briefly, hesitant. Then he cleared his throat, wondering how to start. His friends looked at him with their eyebrows raised.

“I know I have you here, but I’ve been hiding from my past for too long… I’m a Hale, and I need to go back to the Eastern Lands. I understand that you want to stay here…”, he tried to ramble, but Erica stopped him by raising a hand mid-air.

“Stop right there”, she said, her mouth curved into a sarcastic smirk as she eyed Boyd briefly. The Islander looked amused.

Derek was just perplexed, staring at them dumbfounded.

“Really?”, Erica went on, “You thought for one second we wouldn’t want to come with you?”, she added, faking hurt in her tone.

“That hurts, man” Boyd added comically, trying to ease up the heavy tension of the night.

For two seconds, Derek’s face was unreadable, but then he let out a deep sigh and a brief nervous chuckle. He smiled at them as the edges of his eyes wrinkled. It then turned into a full-fledged laughter, and it was contagious for Boyd and Erica.

The three of them ended up laughing like they were insane. Their barks of laughter thundered in the dead of night, filling the Pentosi harbor.

When they settled down, Derek pulled both of them for a long hug, one in each arm, and let out another sigh in relief. He sincerely felt better. He needed to feel strong, hopeful, to be able to defend what he still had left.

Life was cruel; it had taken away one sister but given him back another. Cora was everything for him now.

“I love you guys”, Derek confessed, patting Boyd’s back and crushing Erica against his side, making her whine.

“You idiot”, Erica whispered affectionately, and she could see Boyd’s smile drawing on his face as they melted into a group hug. 

*

That night, Cora slept a little better in Derek’s room in the inn. She felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time; the feeling of belonging and safety. She was at least close to the brother she once thought dead. Their scents mingled up together, surrounding them with the sensation of pack.

**The Dark Lands, March 1018 AN**

The night was dark and the full moon shone in the clear Northern sky. Its glow lit the silhouettes in the forest below. Scott and Ewyn were running through the trees, close to Winterfell, fleeing from something. They were panting, and they stopped to lean on some trees to catch their breath.

“Why do I ever listen to you?”, Scott said, turning his head back briefly with caution.

Ewyn rolled her eyes. “We were so close to Winterfell!”, Ewyn whined, “Did you really think I’d stay in the room all night to hear you snore?”, she said, squinting her eyes.

Scott rolled his.

“Sir John and my mother aren’t going to like this”, he said.

Ewyn dismissed him with her hand, biting her lower lip guiltily.

“Meh. What’s the worst that could happen?”, she said. It came out in a high pitch, a hint of worry in her eyes betraying her attempt to be nonchalant.

Scott brought his palm to his face.

“Don’t jinx it.”

*

The Vallese knew well about the fierceness of the Northerners, and everyone had also heard about the lycan myths that surrounded the Syn culture. Few of them, however, knew werewolves really existed. Scott had been hesitant when Ewyn first told him she saw the mercenaries shifting, and he didn’t quite believe it yet without having seen one himself.

“For Light’s sake”, Ewyn whispered, crouching with Scott behind a tree and looking at the darkness. “I hatched a dragon egg, which is basically a glorified crocodile that spouts flame, and you have trouble believing some men turn into wolves?”, she spurted out hastily.

Scott scoffed.

“Whatever”, he dismissed her in a hushed tone. “I think I heard something.”

Ewyn turned around to look in the darkness. She whispered again. “I wish I could cast a light but”, she said, taking a shallow breath, “they’d find us immediately.”

Scott nodded and turned around to keep watching.

There was the sound of the rustling of leaves in front of them. Scott moved around behind the trees, staring intently at the darkness. At the bushes, there in the other end of the glade.

Ewyn walked by his side but then looked back, raising her eyebrows. She frowned when she heard a crack, like a breaking log, from behind but very distant. They looked at each other silently.

“I’ll go check what that was”, she whispered, and Scott nodded as he kept walking towards the glade.

As soon as Ewyn gave her back to him, they heard a low rumble from the other end of the glade, followed by a loud howl. Scott’s eyes widened in terror as he saw two red eyes pouncing towards him, and he ran from the glade as fast as his legs allowed him to.

*

Ewyn lost Scott as he darted away. She saw a big blur, like a dark silhouette chasing after him, much faster than he could keep up with for certain.

She followed behind but soon lost sight of them, being left only with the footsteps in the soil. She had no other option than to conjure up a light to inspect them carefully. She knelt down and placed her hand in the soil, comparing the size to that of the footprints.

They were bigger than wolf paws, and not quite human but much more so than a normal wolf’s. Her heart clenched, and for the first time she understood what the saying “feeling lost like a Saur in Syn territory” meant.

*

Scott lost track of time and direction as he ran forward, exhausted but not stopping, dragging every single breath he could to keep moving on. It didn’t matter, though, because he found himself being pushed to the ground. He felt a dull pain on his back. When he turned to look up from the ground, everything was blurry. The moon was still high above the forest, and between the sky and him was the dark, furry figure with the two red eyes.

 It was a monster, and Scott gaped as he felt paralyzed. He felt a sharp pain again, this time on his side. When he could realize what had gone down, the monster had already left.

He was shaking, staring at his side where a wound was bleeding. He felt the warm blood dripping from two deep slashes that went all the way from his back to his belly, between his ribs, and he thought he was about to die when he saw a light and heard Ewyn’s voice in the distance.

She was screaming his name.

Ewyn kept getting closer, but her light and her voice became distant. He knew he was going to faint as his head hit the dead leaves with a thud; and then everything went black.

*

They were still in the forest when Scott woke up, close to a stream. He was lying on a hard rock, and heard the gurgle of the water among the nightly sounds of the forest. Ewyn was by his side, smiling weakly as she put a wet piece of cloth on his forehead. She pressed a hand to his shoulder and looked into his eyes.

“Hey, you with me?”, she said softly, and the words echoed on Scott’s head as he gradually became aware of his surroundings.

Scott coughed and then cleared his throat, trying to speak.

“Yeah, yeah. What… what happened?”, he asked, looking around confused.   

Ewyn let out a deep breath.

“I don’t know but…”, she started, hesitant. “I think what attacked you was a werewolf”, she stated severely.

Scott furrowed his brow as he sat up, leaning back against the cold stone. He felt the chill against his bare back and shivered. Ewyn handed him a coat to wear.

“You don’t say”, he spat out as he took it, squinting his eyes at her.

She raised an eyebrow.

“Look who’s no longer a skeptic”, she teased with a vivid expression.

“But… seriously, check this”, she said, pointing at his side, touching the smooth skin that glistened under the moonlight.

Scott backed off, because he was ticklish.

“You took care of it?”, he asked, recovering from the sensation.

 Ewyn shook her head, slowly. She stared into his eyes. “You healed all by yourself… do you know what that means?”, she asked.

“Oh, no…”, he said, bringing his palms to his face and burring it in them.

 He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, the realization hitting him suddenly.

“Why me?”, he whined, hitting the rock with the back of his head and immediately regretting it. He groaned.

Ewyn raised her eyebrows and shrugged.

“I don’t know what that was…”, she said, “but it looked like a very rabid Alpha”, she finished, sighing.

Scott looked at her, with a hint of fear in his eyes.

“Hey, I’ll help you through this, okay?”, she said, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly.

She sat beside him, cross-legged, and looked up at the moon.

“Now, Melissa and John are definitely not going to like this…”, she pondered out loud and both of them grimaced.

*

“You’re what?”, Melissa asked, emphatically, as she raised her eyebrows and pierced Ewyn and Scott with her eyes. She crossed her arms.

Ewyn shrugged, looking apologetic.

“It technically wasn’t my fault…”, she began trying to explain, but Melissa raised an arm in her direction, showing her palm.

“Stop right there, young lady”, the woman commanded with a stern voice.

They thought she was about to say something bad, and Ewyn braced herself for it when…

“Seriously, what?”, she repeated, her eyes wide in shock.

Ewyn pouted.

“Look mom, I won’t know until the next full moon for sure… I guess”, Scott said, “or maybe before”, he ventured.

“I really don’t know how any of this works”, he said saddened.

Melissa remained unfazed. She stared at Ewyn, who cowered and took a step back.

“I’ll… help him?”, she offered, looking up against Melissa’s unyielding death glare tentatively.

She quickly averted her eyes again. Behind Melissa, John let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair.

“If we weren’t already here”, Melissa rasped, “I would tell Scott he’s forbidden to see you for a month”, she deadpanned.

Ewyn raised an eyebrow and yelped.

“Hey! You can’t…”

Melissa gave her the death glare again, daring her, and Ewyn shut up.

“Okay”, she said quickly, and took one step back from Scott shyly.

John was shaking his head vigorously.

*

Inside the inn, Ewyn and Scott were having lunch silently. Melissa and John sat with them, picking up the food from the plate unenthusiastically. They washed it down with ale, and John let out a sigh when he finished his place. They were wearing brown cloaks, like most travelers, because they didn’t want to be conspicuous in times of instability. The tension in the North was about to burst.

Melissa looked at him when she leaned back on her chair to rest. She eyed Ewyn and Scott briefly, who were staring down at their plates, absent-mindedly putting the food in their mouths. She sighed too.

“So is it true Rafael McCall”, she said the name scornfully, “has already left south? We’ve come this far up to New Winterfell for nothing?”, she asked annoyed.

John smiled weakly.

“Not for nothing. I’ve heard reports from Grizzly knights saying Peter Hale marches down with him”, he said.

“Why would the Grizzly ever join a Hale against the Boltons?”, she asked confused.

John raised his eyebrows. “Not all, for sure”, he said, “but I’m quite surprised of how unpopular the Boltons are both in the Dark Lands and in their own homeland.”

“So do you think the North is really going to war after all?”, she said grievously.

Ewyn and Scott stared at John. He nodded, preoccupied.

Scott let down his cutlery loudly. “That means we’ll have to face Peter Hale if we want answers”, he said, looking at him.

John let out a sigh.

“I fear so”, he said.

Ewyn clenched her fists and pressed them against the wooden table.

“I hope the rumors aren’t true”, she said. “I… I feel so uneasy whenever I hear Stuart’s name”, she added.

“We all do”, Melissa added, reaching for her hand and squeezing it reassuringly, “But we’ll stick together”.

John nodded at Melissa’s words, though his eyes were vacant.

Ewyn smiled weakly, but she felt a pressure against her heart that remained unlifted. The air felt heavy, and she knew they felt the same.

 

**Ashenfort, April 1018 AN**

Lord Peter Hale, commander of the northern army, and his right hand, Lord Rafael McCall, were trotting towards the bridge that led to the gates of Ashenfort. There was a moat around the grey castle and the city inside, and so the bridge was the only way to cross.

The bridge was lifted, and Lord Deucalion Bolton stood atop one of the Walls. He looked down at Peter’s soldiers, who extended well into the horizon. Deucalion was sporting a nervous smile. Besides him were Lord Ennis and Lady Kali, and behind the Lady was Jennifer. She was wearing a black dress and staring at the Darklander troops murderously.

Everyone fell silent as the troops stopped their advance, when Peter put a hand in the air and his own horse neighed. He looked up at Lord Bolton, with cold eyes and a stern expression.

“Lord Bolton”, he said loudly, but calmly, “New Winterfell is now the capital of the North. Surrender your territories, and no blood will be spilled on these beautiful forests”, he threatened, the smallest hint of a smile in his face.

Lord Bolton gritted his teeth, a gesture barely visible from the orange and brown grass below, where the northerners stood. Peter saw. Deucalion clenched his fist as he raised his palm, moving slowly but brusquely enough that his dark grey armor clashed. He flashed his eyes red, and Peter responded by tilting up his chin and flashing his own back at him.

Deucalion took a step back.

“Ashenfort will stand. You can play outside for as long as you like”, he replied smugly, “The Crown will take notice of your insubordination, and crush you before you’ve left a single dent inside my fortress!”

Peter laughed loudly and Deucalion seemed annoyed. The undead Hale finally stared back at him, defiant. He grinned.

“Can you assure such protection for the rest of your lands, though, Lord Bolton?”, he said as he turned his horse, about to leave.

“Hide behind your walls as much as you like”, he added, shouting and trotting back to his camp. “Ashenfort will fall to the true rulers of the North.”

Kali bit his lip so hard she almost bled, and Ennis threw a punch at the cold stone. Rafael McCall smiled at Deucalion, and then finally turned to leave as well. He followed Peter through the empty space left behind him, soldiers at each side, and a herald behind the Lord Commander. McCall and the rest of the Syn bannermen marched, with the Hale wolf sigils standing proud and tall.

*

Peter was sitting merrily on his chair within his commanding tent, in the temporary military camp set close to Ashenfort. Lord McCall was sitting by his side when a soldier came to inform him two visitors had arrived. He motioned with his hand for the soldier to let them inside the tent.

A Sylunite knight and a young woman appeared. They made a beeline for Peter, without hesitation, walking side by side. Peter kept staring at them, his face devoid of emotion, as they stopped before his table.

The young woman looked briefly at Lord McCall, who raised an eyebrow at her, and then back at Peter. The man spoke first, taking off his golden helmet and revealing his identity: John of house Stilinski, the exiled King, father of the Betrayer.

“Lord Hale”, he said, as Peter realized who he was. He frowned, “I thought you died in the Day of Fire”.

Peter smirked. “I thought the same about you. But people come back from the dead so easily these days, don’t they?”, he replied nonchalantly.

Ewyn grimaced, and Peter looked at her as she drew his attention.

“Who is this young friend of yours?”, he asked, his voice curious.

“I am Ewyn of Sylune”, she said, raising her chin.

Peter’s eyes widened.

“Well, well…”, he said, with a tone that made Ewyn’s skin shiver. “That’s quite a surprise. How come you haven’t arrived on dragonback?”, he said, his voice mocking. Then his expression turned dark, and he moved forward on the chair, hushing “The North isn’t a place for Saurs.”

Sir John cleared his throat at the disguised threat. “We came looking for answers”, he said, certain, looking at Lord McCall, “And, in turn, we bring someone that will be of interest to Lord McCall”, he added.

Lord McCall turned his face to look at the former King, and raised an eyebrow. “Who would that be?”

Ewyn looked at him coldly.

“Your own blood”, she said, “that you never knew about”

Peter followed their conversation, looking at them amused, and then his gaze fixed on Ewyn. “You should arrange for us to meet, then”, he said.

“The more people who join the northern cause the better, don’t you think, McCall?”, he asked rhetorically.

Lord McCall was staring at Ewyn wide-eyed.

“Is Melissa of Pentos here?”, he asked, disbelief patent in his voice.

John nodded, serious. “You will also meet her”.

Peter smiled. “The former King and the dragon whisperer, what a pair”, he said to himself, cheerily. “I will answer your questions”, he added, getting up from his chair and placing his palms against the table. “But why don’t we go out for a stroll?”, he asked, looking at Lord McCall, “I feel like I could use some stretching”.

Lord McCall nodded. “Do you want me to set things in motion?”, he asked, understanding Peter’s request.

“U-huh”, Peter said, nodding. “Let the Boltons see what will happen to them if they don’t give up these lands”, he said smiling. “Burn the fields of the town you find the closest to Ashenfort”, he added coldly, as he made his way around to table to get to John and Ewyn.

He stopped before John, staring at him, and Ewyn kept looking at Peter with apprehension. Peter, however, was still talking to Lord McCall. “Let them see the flames”, he sentenced, almost a whisper.

Lord McCall nodded once. “As you wish”, he said, looking one last time at Ewyn and turning to go, hesitating for a moment before talking to her.

“Will… you take me to them, later?”, he asked, unsure. “Is… is she okay?”, he managed to ask.

Ewyn looked back at him with the same coldness as before, nodding.

“They’ve been alright by themselves”, she said poignantly. “But I will. Later”, she said, emphasizing the last word. Rafael swallowed and straightened up, walking past them and leaving hurriedly.

Peter stood between John and Ewyn with a grin. He placed his hands over John’s spaulder and Ewyn’s shirt, scratching the metal and squeezing her shoulder. Both looked at his hands with dismay, and at each other knowingly, but didn’t bother moving away. Peter kept grinning anyway, not taking them off. He let out a pleased sigh.

“Where were we…”

**Sylune, Royal Palace, April 1018 AN**

Allyson had been summoned to the King’s Council Room, where she sat opposite to Gerard in his table. He was staring her down coldly, with a writing feather in his hand. Her father was standing behind her, in his King’s Guard armor, full of nerves.

There was a long dead silence, with only the birds chirping outside, until the King finally broke it.

“Allyson”, he said, his voice severe

“Have you been keeping anything about your friends Lydia and Jackson from us?”, he asked clinically.

Allyson hesitated, opening her mouth to speak but unable to. She tried to avoid his question, scared. “Grandfather, I didn’t know that this would reach such a magnitude…”

“So you did know”, Chris said, looking at her with disappointment, wide-eyed.

Gerard’s expression became furious, and his eyes showed deep anger directed at Allyson. He screamed at her.

“I knew it. You’re a shame to our family!”, he blurted out, “You thought you were doing your little Sylunite friends a favor?”, he said, getting more riled up each second.

He looked at Chris, scornfully, “Look at what you have accomplished! We should’ve raised her in the Marshes, away from Claudia!”, he added.

Chris cleared his throat and took a step back, but had nothing to say.

Gerard tilted his head to look back at Allyson, raising a clenched first in the air. “Now we have to solve the mess you’ve made before it comes to our own doors!”, he said roughly. “Do you have any idea what is going on?”

Allyson looked at him briefly, averting her gaze. She spoke softly.

“Jackson left the city with an army…”

“With my men!”, Gerard replied, spitting in anger.

“Ten thousand men from Sylune and the Valley, that may turn against us any second now!”, he clarified.

He kept staring intently at his son and granddaughter, scornful, his nostrils flaring with each breath. Then he let out a deep sigh, and seemed to be coming down. Chris looked at him hesitant.

“What do we do now?”, he asked, tired.

Gerard looked at him briefly, turning his head, then back at Allyson. He took a white piece of paper and slid it through the table, throwing the feather he had been holding on top of it.

“First we have to be diplomatic”, he said, taking a deep breath.

“Until we know how much is true about what Peter Hale is planning”, he added.

Allyson let out a sigh of relief.

Chris raised an eyebrow. “What about the Boltons?”, he said.

“They brought this upon themselves”, he said, unforgiving. “Whatever must happen to them, it will”, he sentenced.

Then he turned to look back at Allyson, placing his hand above the piece of paper and tapping it.

“You write to your aunt Kate right now, telling her exactly what you’ve caused by hiding Lydia’s and Jackson’s treason”, he said, “and you summon her to Sylune, in my name”, he added.

Chris’s eyes widened. “If you need someone to go North, why don’t you send me?”, he said, taking another step forward, “I’m not a bound Lord”.

Gerard looked at his son coldly.

“Because I need someone I can trust”, he blurted out.

Chris appeared troubled, but he stopped his advance and averted his gaze. He said nothing.

Allyson swallowed forcefully. “Is it of any use to send letters to Peter Hale?”, she asked, in a low voice.

Gerard looked at her condescendingly. “I don’t think so, but we will anyway. If he ignores them like McCall ignored the Boltons’, we’ll be on the brink of war.”

Allyson held the feather tightly.

Gerard spoke again, calmer. “You politely inform Peter Hale that whoever rules the North is still a vassal of Sylune”, he said, and then finished, “and that I’ll send my daughter for the pertinent negotiations”, he added.

Allyson looked up at his grandfather, nodding. She seemed doubtful again.

“There’s one more thing you must know, grandfather”, she said softly. He raised an eyebrow at her, letting out a deep sigh.

“Just tell me already”, he replied, exhausted.

“It was Isaac who overheard Jackson’s… plot”, she said, “and that night we met with Cora Hale.”

Chris looked at her wide-eyed, and Gerard briefly gaped before he could close his mouth, but he kept himself composed. The older man cleared his throat.

“A Hale is alive?”, he rasped, a hint of his anxiety showing.

She nodded. “More than one is. And I think that, should this go to war with the North, they’ll be of immense help to us.”

Gerard’s uneasiness seemed to fade in favor of incredulity. He raised an eyebrow.

“What are you saying, exactly?”, he inquired.

“Peter killed Laura Hale to become the ruler of the North”, she said, running her tongue through her lower lip nervously, “Cora saw it all and fled south, coming for help. And Derek Hale was in Pentos, alive all of this time. She went to search for him”, she explained, quickly and concise as she could, as Gerard’s expression grew more and more confused.

“They will return to Sylune, and they want to avenge their sister. To kill Peter Hale”, she added, resolute.

Gerard leaned back on his chair, taking in all the information. The smallest hint of a smirk showed in his face.

“What do you think?”, Allyson asked, after a few moments, hesitant.

Gerard’s face hardened, but his voice was calm.

“Be sure to fill your aunt in with all the details” 

 

**Ashenfort, April 1018 AN**

John and Melissa were talking to each other, close to the military camp. They stood by a solitary oak tree in the middle of the fields. She sighed, looking at the distance, where Lord McCall was strolling with Scott, half-embracing him, and they seemed to be laughing together.

“I don’t know if this was the right idea…”, she said. “We don’t exactly have a happy past together”, she said.

John nodded, squeezing her shoulder to reassure her.

“We never know for certain”, he replied, “But if any of what Peter has told me is true, it’s worth a shot”, he added.

Melissa raised her eyebrows.

“What did he tell you?”, she asked softly.

“Melissa”, John said, trying to find the right words. He put his hands over her shoulders and stared at her, with a hope in his eyes.

“I’ve believed for almost five years that my son Stuart was a murderer”, he said, getting emotional, “can you… can you imagine the relief I feel?”, he asked, averting his gaze.

Melissa pulled him in for a hug. “Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay”, she said, as she felt her shoulders getting wet from his silent tears. He was shaking a little, and she kept comforting him and running her hand through his hair to soothe him.

“He…”, John tried, his voice rough, “he said that Parrish survived as well. That lad… that boy’s like a son to me”, he added.

Melissa nodded silently. “I know”, she said. “I’m glad he’s alive. I want to see him again. He was always so dedicated to Claudia and to the Princes…”

John broke the hug slowly. He wiped the wetness away from his eyes and cheeks, clearing his throat again.

“How… how are McCall and Scott getting along?”, he asked, hesitant.

Melissa looked at the distance, where they were still walking together. She let out a deep breath.

“Not too bad”, she said. “Scott’s probably telling him about his training in Sylune with Stiles… to become a knight”, she said.

“Stiles…”, John echoed, absently. He felt the pent up emotions bubble up, threatening to make him burst in tears again.

Melissa rubbed his shoulder with her hand, looking at him.

“Hey”, she said, “If what Peter says is true… that Stuart had nothing to do with what happened that day. Then, I think it will be easier for you to let go”, she told him, softly.

John looked at her and smiled weakly.

“It would…”

*

Inside Ashenfort, in the main square every Bolton man-at-arms was moving around weapons and supplies at a hectic pace. Kali, Ennis and Deucalion were standing there, in their still shining armor. They didn’t have a single scratch, because they hadn’t been used for battle. Ennis was pacing impatiently, and Kali was jittery, tapping her foot on the ground, her arms crossed. Deucalion was staring at the sky.

“Peter Hale has already begun attacking our towns”, Kali said harshly, “How long do you think we can hold our position here? What if the Argents leave us to ourselves?”, she asked troubled.

Ennis looked at her, gritting his teeth. “They’ll come crush Peter”, he said. “And we will hold position with our loyal men.”

Deucalion scoffed. “Do you think loyalty is unconditional, fool?”, he said, angry at his brother. “I’m not even sure what the Argents are planning!”, he said, furious, “all our correspondence has been cut!”, he added.

Kali stared at the grey stones absently. “If the rumors are true…”

Deucalion looked at her coldly. “That they’ve given up on us? You surely don’t believe that, do you?”

Ennis clenched his fist, fuming. Deucalion let out a sigh. “Actually, it doesn’t matter what you believe. If our men believe it, we’re already lost…”

Kali let out a groan in frustration.

*

Ewyn was close to a stream, to the east in the woods, when she felt an unwelcome presence behind. She was washing a piece of cloth and squeezing out the water. She left what she was doing and stood up to find out who it was, annoyed. It was Peter Hale, approaching alone, without his horse in sight. She let out a small sigh.

“What do you want?”, she spat out, resting her hands on her waist. “I thought you, John and I had already talked business”, she said.

Peter grinned, but didn’t stop his advances until he was almost at breathing distance from Ewyn. They locked gazes, and she felt the hint of a flush on her skin, but kept staring at him defiantly nonetheless. His grin turned into a smirk.

“I can see how you’d fight the searing savages”, she said.

She scoffed and turned around, giving his back to him and standing closer to the river. He went and stood beside her, looking sideways and turning his head. They remained in silence briefly, hearing only the passing of the water and the forest sounds.

“I’m here because I think you weren’t very convinced earlier”, he said simply. “Is that so?”, he asked, though more a statement than a question.

Ewyn let out a deep breath, upset.

“Maybe”, she said.

“I understand”, he said nonchalantly, tilting his head towards her and clasping his hands together. “After all these years, you must still shiver when you hear about the Dark Prince”, he said. “Isn’t that so?”, he added, standing closer to her, “Holy Mage”.

She did feel a shiver, but only because he was too close. She didn’t move away, though, and was probably openly blushing now.

Peter kept talking with a lower tone, almost whispering, getting close to her ear. “Maybe you feel powerless”, he said, and with the last word his breath ghosted over her skin.

She turned to take a step back, but Peter’s strong grip was holding her forearm.  Her eyes widened when he flashed his eyes red.

“I know you know about lycanthropy”, he added, “by the way you look at us Syns”, he said coldly, as her heartbeat sped up. She swallowed.

“I could give you the bite”, he offered, getting closer to her face again, whispering against her cheek.

She took another step back, breaking all contact and staring at him angrily. “I’m not helpless”, she blurted out, “and if you touch me again I’ll make sure you never forget that”, she added.

Peter openly laughed, looking up at the forest trees and the blue sky. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable”, he said, smirking. “Consider my proposition. It’s a gift…”, she said.

“Not one I’d ever accept from you”, she spat out, ruthlessly.

Peter seemed more amused than offended, though. “But I’ll see for myself who is truly to blame”, she added.

“If King Gerard is really the culprit, I’ll fight against him”, she added, “For John and for my friend Scott”, she added, raising her chin proudly.

Peter smiled now, letting his arms down and unclenching his fists. He let out a deep breath. “It’s good to know I can count with such a not helpless sorcerer in my army”, he said then, teasing her.

“You will have your confirmation soon enough, rest assured”, he said, as he turned to leave.

Ewyn stayed there, staring at his figure as he disappeared between the trees, going to the same direction where he’d come from. Peter turned around once, with a grin and, flashed his eyes red at her again. She didn’t avert her gaze, and remained unfazed as Peter got out of sight.

 

**Sylune, April 1018 AN**

Derek arrived in Sylune during the fourth month of the year 1018 after Nessaria’s devastation, and with him his sister Cora and their comrades: Erica, Boyd and Isaac. Isaac had become inseparable from Boyd and Erica during their travel, and Cora seemed to be warming up, now that she had family again. Spending so much time alone and feral in the cold north had made her become a different person and grow up faster. But now, with Derek close, she felt more at ease, enough to try and let some friends in, such as Isaac.

Soon after their arrival they were headed directly to the Royal Palace, where they met with Allyson and Kate, on behalf of the King and for immediate departure to the north. Isaac and Cora led the way, and the Hales met the Scaled in Ewyn’s terrace, right before the restored doors of the Throne Room.

Derek took a step forward, standing between the two women and his own sister, Erica, Boyd and Isaac. He stared silently at Kate Argent, who looked back at him, with a grin on her face.

“I never thought I’d see you alive again”, she said, without much emotion.

Derek didn’t blink. “So did I”, he replied, coldly, then looking at Allyson.

“Your Highness”, he said, roughly, “Make the King know that we are the last living children of Talia, and that we’ll go north to make things right with our people.”

Kate smiled, and Cora glowered at her. Isaac saved the distance between the two groups to reach for Allyson.

“I’ll… I’ll go with them”, he hesitated, “now that Jackson has abandoned us…”, he added, sorrowful.

Allyson’s face saddened. She looked back at Derek.

“I will”, she said. “He already knows about your arrival”, she said, looking at Isaac.

“In fact, he wanted me to welcome you to Sylune”, she added.

“Time is short for formalities”, Cora replied drily.

Allyson looked at her and then at her aunt, worrying her lip as she looked for confirmation. She spoke again.

“The King wants Lady Katherine to go with you as a herald”, she said, “Just in case your fellow Syns prove… unreasonable”, she added, choosing her words carefully. She looked up at Derek, and then stared at Cora, refusing to be intimidated.

“So be it”, Derek said coldly, as Cora motioned for Isaac to return with them.

Isaac nodded at Allyson, who gave him a small squeeze in his shoulders, and then the Hales turned to leave. Derek was already giving his back to the Princess when he looked back at her, flashing his eyes blue. Allyson’s eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t say anything.

“Lady Kate can come after us, and we’ll meet eventually”, he said, “But we’ll leave the city alone. We have some matters of our own to discuss.”

Kate let out a mock whine. “Ow. And I thought you’d want to spend time with, me after all these years”, she added, defiant, “old friend.”

Cora gave her the death glare, but Derek simply kept walking away.

“You were wrong”, he said, loudly.

“After all these years, all is changed”, he mumbled to himself.

Cora heard his whisper, and looked at him as they were all leaving the Palace. She nodded in silent approval.

The Hales, Isaac, Erica and Boyd left Sylune that night alone. They crossed district bridges, with the Argent banners hanging proud above them, a symbol of who the Holy City – and the Kingdom - belonged to. For some reason, the idea hadn’t sunk in while he was in the West, and now the reality hit him. The lights casted long shadows, their only companions for the moment; but not for long, with the Saurs as their unlikely allies.

Derek was returning home after five years, and he felt his heart clench with the thought.

 

**Riverlands, April 1018 AN**

Some days later, in the Riverlands, Derek and Cora were talking alone. The siblings had stopped close to Aldor, one of the last towns in the shire before Clearwaters. They had often stopped there when they had traveled the Holy Kingdom as children. But that was of another time, a time when their parents were still alive.

They were sitting on some stones in the grass, under the warm rays of the midday sun. Cora was going through the motions of sharpening her magical blade, but it was impossible to sharpen any further. She still liked the distraction the activity gave her, though. Derek was just staring at the horizon, where lay Clearwaters and the old North. Their home.

“I see you taught your dark friend and the Sylunite our language”, she said simply, going on with her futile endeavor, “you must truly like them”, she said, with a softer voice and the hint of a smile.

Derek’s lips quirked up, and his eyes lit.

“Yeah”, he said, finally. “They’re good people. Have had it hard to find a place in the world”, he added.

“This world is a shitty place altogether”, Cora replied, huffing.

Derek crackled.

“Sometimes I think you’ve changed so much, but other times it’s just like you’re still a little girl”, he said.

Cora squinted her eyes. They stayed in comfortable silence for a while, and then she let out a deep breath.

“It’s good to be back with you”, she finally admitted, contented.

Derek got closer to her and sat down. Their sides rested against each other, and he let out a contented sigh. She smiled. After a moment, he talked as well.

“What about your friend?”, he said, raising an eyebrow. “The Sylunite”

“Oh”, she said, absently. “I think he has something going on with Allyson. He was Jackson’s squire, go figure. I never liked that Saur prick”, she added, bitterly.

“Right”, Derek said, taking the information in.

“But he’s nice”, she pointed, nonchalantly.

“Anyway, I wanted to ask you something”, she said, changing the topic of conversation.

Derek separated a bit from her and raised his eyebrows.

“What is it?”, he asked.

“I was just wondering. Isaac told me about this ‘Second Ewyn’ thing and the whole story of Pentos”, she explained, excited, “Did you truly meet the girl?”

Derek let out a laugh.

“Sure… let me tell you about Ewyn. I’m sure you haven’t heard the whole story…”

Derek told his sister all about it, and not much later it was already lunch time and they had to leave. Cora stood up and stretched, flashing her eyes yellow reflexively.

“Wow”, she said, “That girl sure sounds amazing”, she added, “I’m sure you say she annoys you so much only because you secretly like her or something. Can’t fool me.”

“Shut up”, Derek said, rolling his eyes.

Cora smiled weakly.

“But… if you were like, friends, why did she leave without saying anything?”, she asked.

Derek looked down at her, his face suddenly softer. “I… I don’t know”, he said, clenching his fist. His expression was hesitant.

 “I guess it doesn’t matter anymore, does it?”

“Does it matter to you?”, she asked, looking at him.

Isaac was calling for them, urging them to move on because they had to leave to cross Clearwaters.

Derek coughed.

“We should go”, he said, deflecting and fleeing as fast as he could; leaving Cora there, standing dumbfounded.

 

**Grizzly Hills, April 1018 AN**

It was already night when Ewyn went out of her tent at Peter Hale’s military camp, to clear her head and put her thoughts in order. She had been meditating, looking for answers in the Light. Or, well, trying to; because she’d never been able to stay quiet and focused enough to meditate for long. Her mind had drifted to Queen Claudia, a figure she felt a lot of fondness for, from what she vaguely remembered and from what Scott and John had told her over the years.

She sometimes felt fearful for all the things she’d left behind. Her whole past hid behind a wall of darkness in her mind, and that always bugged over her. But she had left Pentos behind and everyone there too. She pondered the fate of Allaris; of Laura, whom she had yet to find, and of Derek. Maybe the Syn siblings had already met again. She had left Pentos without looking back, but only because of Scott and their circumstances. After Kira’s death and finding out about his father, they needed to leave and go back to the East.

She was walking through the forest, and the night was warm under a clear sky with a crescent moon. She heard the distant flow of a stream, insects and crickets even further away, and the breeze going through her brown hair, lifting it softly. She reached the top of a hill before a glade, and as soon as she saw what lay downhill, she stopped breathing for a second.

Derek was down there, breathing heavily and naked, his body covered with the dirt of the ground. The taut muscles in his abdomen flexed with each ragged breath. He dropped to all fours and shifted to his wolf form, going towards her. Ewyn was frozen in place, gaping, and didn’t quite register until he was in front of her. She was looking down at the wolf. Derek tilted his head, looking at her; and then he shifted back, rising on his feet. She kept looking at his eyes even when his height normalized.

Derek’s eyes flashed briefly blue, and then he was just there, frozen in place and staring at her too. His mouth was also open, and Ewyn’s heart raced as she licked her lips.

“You… I didn’t know if I’d ever see…”, she tried to say, with a voice threatening to break, her words all jumbled up.

Derek took a step forward, closing the distance between them.

“I’m glad you’re alive”, he said, pressing his lips to hers. She barely hesitated before opening and letting him in, and they started kissing passionately. Derek’s kiss was rough and hungry, and she tasted the flavor of the forest, a hint of his sweat. She was in shock, but the heat inside her burned up when he pulled her closer. She wrapped her hands around his neck and kissed back, aggressively as well, then moving them to cup his cheeks.

It didn’t take long until her legs were too weak to stand and they fell on the ground, a bed of leaves and the soil scattered all around, but neither of them cared. Her hands traveled all down his naked body; his broad shoulders, his sides… whereas Derek held her tightly, moving his own hands down from her shoulders, brushing her breasts with his thumbs. She shuddered.

They rolled around until Derek was over her, and they broke the kiss. He was staring down lewdly, with blown pupils and red cheeks. She had stubble burn all over her soft face and neck, but she didn’t care either. He pinned her down as he grinned, with his hands over her arms, pressing her hard to the ground. She returned the grin and moved her leg between his to press against his hardness. Derek was the one who felt a shiver now, and he closed the distance between them to kiss again.

Derek pressed his crotch to hers as she grazed her nails down his back. Her hands finally rested over his waistline, fingers digging in as he kept rolling his hips over her, slowly but surely. She moaned into his mouth.

She tried to take her shirt off and Derek helped, breaking the kiss for only a moment before discarding it to the ground around them. Derek mouthed at her neck as she dug her nails into his damp hair, smiling, and he took off her bra, throwing it away in a similar fashion. He kept going down until he was mouthing over her midline and found the fabric of her pants. She urged him to take them off too. He did, and took her undergarments off as well, leaving her completely naked.

Derek took a moment to look at her body; her flushed face, her perky breasts and hard nipples against the light breeze of the forest night. Her pale skin shone beautifully under the moon, and she looked spectral, unreal. He stared in her brown eyes as he covered her body with his own, skin against skin everywhere, and his cock was already leaking over her belly and down.

She felt she was wet already and with Derek’s hand on her waist, his fingers started traveling between her legs, brushing over places that made her tingle. He shifted and knelt between her legs, his head over her belly. He looked up at her hungrily. She nodded, and the next thing she knew Derek’s fingers were opening her folds and teasing around her clit. She let out a moan when he started eating her out, his tongue laving between her folds and teasing her entrance. She could feel his stubble against her thighs, and it sent shivers up her spine when he pressed closer and she felt his hot breath against her body.

He kept licking her and her clit with the tip of his tongue until she was panting and digging her nails a bit too hard into his hair. When he removed his head from between her legs, she felt the cold exposure and let out a low whine. He looked up at her, with a smirk; and she could see the desire in his eyes. He was wet around his mouth and down his chin from her juices, and it glistened under the moonlight. He lay on top of her again, and she started stroking his slick cock fast as he let out a groan.

They kissed as she guided him in slowly. She felt the tip brush against her entrance as he pushed in the head, and she gasped. He looked in her eyes as she stared up at him, and she kept nodding. He gritted his teeth as he pushed in, still slowly, and stilled when he was inside, letting out a small groan and resting his arms afterwards on her sides. His chest was pressed to her breasts, and she could feel the muscles of his belly over hers, blocking out the breeze.  

He let out a deep breath and started nuzzling her neck again, and she let out a moan when he started moving slowly. She ran her hands down his back as he went almost all the way out only to thrust back in, now a bit faster, but not too quickly. She moaned again when he bit her collarbone down softly.

She spread her legs as his pace quickened, thrusting into her slick warmth, and Derek groaned louder and louder each time, unable to keep the sounds to himself. Ewyn’s hand joined his and both traveled down, where she started teasing her clit, helped by Derek’s thumb, as he dived inside her repeatedly where no one had before.

Ewyn’s toes curled and she arched her back as she neared climax, finally reaching it with one particular brush of Derek’s thumb and a strong bite on her jaw. His breath was still ghosting over her neck in the aftershocks, and she clenched all around Derek. He was close too, and the litany of moans that left her throat when she came sent him over the edge, shooting deep inside her in several hot spurts.

He let his weight fall over her briefly before they rolled over, still connected, and he pressed close to her. They looked at each other, their heads resting on the dirt. She let out a deep breath, smiling contentedly, and he sighed in relief too, running his hand down her back. Derek cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry I… was never good at showing… I cared about you”, he said, and she was taken by surprise.

“It’s okay. I missed you too”, she said, smiling, running her hand down his side.

They heard a wolf howling in the distance, and Derek’s eyebrows lifted urgently as his eyes flashed blue, his heat moving towards the source. He looked at her, with a hint of fear in his eyes.

“I need to go, Ewyn”, he informed, breaking the moment.

She lifted her eyebrows, perplexed. “What’s happening? I… I have so many questions…”, she said.

“I wish I could stay”, he said, looking alternatively at her and the distance, agitated.

“I have so much to say”, he added, “but I can’t”, he continued as he got up, ready to shift.

“Just hear me this one thing”, he said, looking into her eyes.

She stood too, and kept looking at him confused. “What is it?”, she asked, her voice low.

“Stay away from Peter Hale”, he said, as he turned and ran away swiftly, howling as well.

Ewyn stood there, naked, under the moonlight. She saw Derek disappear in the woods after the glade at the end of the hill, and pondered what he could have meant. She clenched her fists and looked at the moon, gritting her teeth too in frustration. The siege of Ashenfort was about to lift, with Peter victorious.  

She went for her clothes, feeling exposed and cold in the aftermath.

**Ashenfort, April 1018 AN**

Jennifer had managed to escape Ashenfort before the mutiny against the Boltons took place, after Kali and Deucalion had begun fighting amongst themselves and reached their breaking point. She was hiding among the crowd outside, formed by a bunch of common people from different parts of Grizzly Hills, Osternis and the Dark Lands; Hale and McCall bannermen as well as other Syns.

She saw it all, when the Hale bannermen surrounded the moat and Peter stood in first line, facing the castle’s main gate and unlifted bridge stoic. She heard the horn when another army came from the south, and the people from the Grizzly Hills started whispering among themselves. From Osternis, arriving to Ashenfort through the southern border, the Vallese armies lead by Sir Parrish and Lord Jackson Whittemore came, some men walking and the leaders trotting. The Boltons were surrounded and it had been weeks since they’d been isolated from supplies. Many towns in Grizzly Hills had their fields charred, and there was no response from their alleged leaders, the Lords of the North.

The Highlanders were unhappy, and their Lords would pay for it.

Jennifer saw in horror when the bridge went down, how Peter smiled maliciously when the Boltons were brought in chains before them, poisoned but conscious. The Bolton bannermen, disloyal like their Lord, gave them up in exchange for mercy and for their lives. They accepted Lord Peter Hale as the Lord of the North, and they chanted their name as they booed the Boltons.

Lord McCall killed Ennis first, at the command of Lord Peter Hale, by running his blade through his dark heart. He groaned in pain as he cursed one last time before expiring. The uproar was deafening, and the Darklanders wondered what kind of loyalty these men had ever had to their rulers.

Lord Whittemore advanced and when he got off his horse he walked. On his path to stand right before Lord Hale, their gazes locked. Jackson inspected him, apprehensive.

Lord Peter Hale stilled before him, checking him out with his crystal, cold eyes from head to toe. He let out a smile before he squeezed his shoulder, nodding, and took his arm to raise it in the air. He took a deep breath, and spoke loudly, for everyone around to hear. His voice broke the silence like a thunder.

“Today is a great day for the North!”, he began, speaking proudly, “the day I will avenge my sister and everything that our foes have done to wrong us!”, he said.

He looked at Kali, Deucalion, and behind them their sons, Ethan and Aiden, all in shackles and squirming on the ground, like the worms he thought them to be.

“The north remembers!”, he screamed. “We never forgot about Talia Hale!”, he said, as the Darklanders nodded and brought their fists to their chests, in solemn memory of their wolf leader. 

“But we must not dwindle by shedding tears over the past!”, he said, grinning at Deucalion, and then turning to look at Jackson, who was wide-eyed and confused.

“This is my one son”, he said, as everyone around fell silent and the surprise overtook every single person around, including John, Melissa and Ewyn among the crowd, and Jennifer’s horror only increased each second.

“Jackson Whittemore is my son”, he repeated, loudly, “And I want everyone here to know that he was born from my womb!”, he screamed.

He let his hand down, and took a step back to look at Jackson’s eyes directly. He motioned for a soldier to bring him a sword from the spoils of Ashenfort, which was no other than Icefang, the traditional Hale sword. Jackson gaped as Peter placed the blade between his hands.

“Lord Whittemore”, Peter said, solemnly, tilting his chin up and looking at him, “prove that you are a true Syn, that my blood flows through your veins”, he said, “and kill one of these traitors”, he added.

Jackson’s face was overrun with horror, but soon he swallowed and nodded, remembering every time the Boltons had belittled Lydia or Aiden lusted after her. He turned with the sword in his grip, walking towards Kali, and two soldiers held her as he let the blade rest over her nape, her face looking down, resigned. She was about to cry, her eyes red, and she was looking at Deucalion on the other side, whose eyes were watery too as he gritted his teeth.

“Spare our children”, she whispered, as Jackson raised the blade and swung it with all his strength, killing her but not severing her head completely. The cut was messy and blood dripped everywhere from the broken muscles and shattered bones. He looked around nervously but then focused and stared stern at the attached head, repeating the motion and severing it completely. The Darklanders started chanting the Hale name again.

Peter strode towards Jackson and put a hand over his shoulder as the young man panted, catching his breath. He took the bloodied sword back from him.

“Jackson is a true Hale!”, he said, and everyone cheered him. Jackson experienced a mixture of feelings; he was still in shock from his first life taken, but also overrun by the ecstasy of being wanted, accomplished and the Syn pride. He’d never felt good about his Saur heritage, and now he had another one to embrace, even if through blood and ice. He half-embraced his father in response, and the crowd began chanting about father and son. Jennifer was about to vomit, her hand over her mouth inside her cloak’s hood, and she tried to look away. She couldn’t, staring in horror and getting sicker each second.

Rafael McCall walked up to where Deucalion was, by the side of Peter, Jackson and Kali’s body. Parrish was also nearby, by Ennis’s body.

“Lord Bolton”, he said, as he gave his back to Ewyn, John and Scott. He looked down on Deucalion, his expression stern.

“Confess your crimes against the Hales and the North and I will spare your children”, he offered dryly, his look unwavering.

Deucalion looked up at him, biting his own tongue so hard he bled, and he couldn’t heal from how weak he was. He looked sideways at Kali Bolton, remembered her last wish and was filled by rage and desperation. He screamed at the top of his lungs, as Rafael took a step back, wide-eyed.

“Alright!”, he said.

Everyone fell silent, and Peter Hale smirked. His voice sounded raw and his sanity hung from a fine thread. “WE DID IT ALL, WITH THE ARGENTS!”, he confessed, as everyone in the crowd gasped In surprise. Jennifer felt her legs weaken and she went to the back of the crowd, to vomit against a tree. Everything was tuned out of her mind, but she still heard Deucalion’s raw voice like he was screaming inside her own throbbing head.

“THE ARGENTS BESPELLED BELERION! THEY DID IT TO GET THE CROWN FOR THEMSELVES… AND THEY KILLED THE HALES AND THE STILINSKIS…”, he screamed, on the verge of tears.

Peter was more amused each second. He walked alone to stand by the side of Rafael, pointing at Deucalion with the bloodied blade, almost pushing it inside his mouth when he was finished.

“He confessed!”, he said, cheerily. “The Argents are responsible for the death of my sister! Of your former Queen, the pious Claudia! They framed the Dark Prince, her legitimate heir!”, he screamed. “And Talia’s, Lady Laura…”, he started to say, as Deucalion interrupted him, his eyes injected.

“Yes! Have you confession, you fucking Hale!”, he replied, bitterly, “We killed Laura and every single one of you, and I should’ve burned your body!”, he screamed. “I WOULD DO IT AGAIN!”, he added, emphatically, trying to stand up as everyone took a step back in horror.

Jennifer remembered the night of Peter’s death, when she and Ennis hid the body and she casted the spell over the grave to keep it buried within the former ruins of Winterfell. She wondered how the Dark Prince had been able to find it and bring him back to life…

 “YOU HALES ALWAYS TREATED US LIKE INSECTS”, he screamed, finally, before Peter kicked his jaw with his dark boots.

It made him fall back on the dirt, spitting and coughing up blood. Lord McCall’s eyes widened, but he didn’t move.

“Because that’s what you are”, Peter said, low and rough, in the dead silence of the surroundings of Ashenfort. It was nearing noon, and Jennifer felt her cheeks watery without even realizing she’d been crying against the rough bark.

“Prepare the little lordlings”, Peter said, smirking, looking at Aiden and Ethan, who were almost unconscious now, their faces red with rage and tears from the distress. Two soldiers came and held their bodies, making them kneel over the dirt, and they brought them before Deucalion and Peter.

“You promised…”, Deucalion said lowly, gaping in horror. He looked up at Peter with fear in his eyes at the realization.

“Rafael did. I promised you nothing”, he said, “but I have something to tell you”, he added, with morbid amusement.

Peter’s face became cold, losing every expression. “Someone once told me it’s a tragedy to outlive all of your family members”, Peter deadpanned, “so I’ll make this easier for you.”

Peter wielded Icefang with both hands in the air. He smiled maniacally down at Deucalion, and saw his own red eyes reflected on the other man’s.

“I’ll kill you first”, he said, as he slashed his throat open with a perfect cut, making him bleed out and spray everyone around with pulses of warm scarlet. Some of it ended up on his own mouth, his chin, and he licked around only for the taste. He grinned as he looked up at the soldiers’ blank faces, wiping it with the back of his hand and smearing it over his cheeks.

“Kill them too”, he deadpanned, as he turned around to look at the crowd behind him, including a horrorized Ewyn, John and Melissa.

Jennifer almost fainted, but she managed to walk away, stumbling around the stones and the trees. She heard the last words from Peter Hale.

“Learn the hardest lesson today”, he said, serious, a bloodied fist in the air, “of what happens to those that are against the North!”, he screamed, and the crowd began screaming too. They chanted his name as a Syn leader and as a guide for the North, against the Sylunite tyrants.

 

**Dragon’s End, April 1018 AN**

In Stuart’s quarters, he and Lydia were standing by the balcony. They leaned on it and watched over the red mountains in the early morning. A dove had just arrived from the Highlands, and a servant had brought it, as a messenger from the Dark Sister. Lydia had taken it, wearing only her robe because she’d just woken up, and she went back with Stuart to look at the horizon, dark but already lighting up the fields of the Valley.

She eyed it briefly before smiling and handing it over to Stuart, who did the same. He crumpled the yellowish paper and threw it away, making it burst into purple flames before its ashes fell down the rocky mountainside. He let out a contended breath, looking at her.

“So Parrish has seen the siege lifted”, he said, smirking.

Lydia pressed herself closer to him, kissing his temple as he stared at the horizon. She nodded against his skin, with a smile of her own, whispering in his ear.

“And Jackson has met his mother…”, she said, softly.

Stuart let out a loud laugh, and Lydia soon joined him, placing her hand around his waist where a white cord served as a belt. A strong morning breeze refreshed their minds as it passed through their dark hairs, and they remained in comfortable silence.

She looked at him. “I’m sure my grandmother will be happy this is all working out well”, she said.

“The Northerners are vibrant for independence from the Argents”, he added, cheerily.

Lydia nodded, smirking. “And now, they will defeat the King to get us the throne in Sylune”, she said, “We will rule together, Stuart”.

He kept staring at the horizon, still happy, but his expression solemn. “We will, my Dark Queen”, he said, his voice rough, “We’ll take back what they took from my family”

Lydia rested her head against his neck, and pressed closer to him. She looked down at the Valley too, wondering when they’d finally get to harness all the powers they’d acquired through their training and study.

 

**Grizzly Hills, April 1018 AN**

On the last day of the fourth month, Peter Hale already held Ashenfort and his son’s armies had joined him; Hale wolves and Whittemore lions and their bannermen together. The evening was particularly grey and windy on that day, and Peter was busy arguing with the generals the possibilities for the future, now that the north had been declared independent: the Dark Lands, Grizzly Hills and Osternis. Lords McCall and Hale had agreed that the administration would return to the Dark Lands and New Winterfell when the Crown had been defeated, now that they’d openly declare war as soon as the Argent envoys arrived. Because there was no way in which the Argents would just accept such an insubordination to Sylune, the Holy City for a thousand years. Winterfell was older, though.

In one of Ashenfort’s inns, Sir John, Sir Parrish, Scott and Ewyn were chatting and drinking ale after Rafael McCall had left to meet with Peter. Scott was looking radiant, at the prospect of him being legitimized after Stuart held the Crown again, much like Jackson; both would be eligible to inherit Syn lands in the north. Ewyn patted Scott on the shoulder, and he noticed she was worrying over something. He raised an eyebrow, tuning out the conversation between Parrish and John.

“Hey… is something bothering you?”, Scott asked softly, tilting his head.

Ewyn smiled weakly. “You’re all so radiant”, she said, letting out a sigh. “But this is all happening very quickly for me”, she added. “Months ago the Dark Prince was the biggest monster, and now he’s almost the wanted savior against the evil Scaled dragons…”, she said, looking down at the table.

“I get it”, Scott said, “I have my father, Jackson has Peter and John has Parrish and his son”, he said, hastily, “but you have no ties to the North and this cause and you’re a Saur”, he said, “…you need some time to take it all in”

Ewyn nodded quickly, looking at John briefly, who was vibrant too, from the prospect of meeting his son and having the crushing pressure of his crime lifted, like a horrible nightmare he’d just waken from. Only that it had lasted for long years.

“Deucalion confessed, though”, Scott added, “Stuart is innocent”

“I… I always thought he killed my best friend”, Scott said, sadly. “But as it turns out it was Allyson’s family all along”, he said. “I… I still don’t think she could do something like that”, he added.

“So King Gerard plotted it behind her back?”, she asked, curious.

Scott let out a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah… I’m sure. John is also certain that Chris Argent had nothing to do with it”, he commented. “This is going to be complicated”

Ewyn pressed her fingertips against her temples, closing her eyes and letting out a deep breath herself. “I don’t know anything anymore”, she whispered, before she blurted, “I met Derek, the Syn from Pentos… in the woods, last night”

Scott’s eyes widened. “What? Are you sure you didn’t dream that?”, he asked, dumbfounded.

Ewyn hesitated. “I… I don’t think so”, she said, “But he left as quickly as he came”, she said, sadly. “He left me with enigmatic words only”.

“What did he say”, Scott asked, resting his head on his fist and looking intently at her.

“That Peter Hale isn’t to be trusted”, she replied. “And to be honest, doesn’t he broadcast a creepy vibe?”

“Yeah”, Scott said, moving his head a little, “But what can you expect from someone who’s basically risen from the dead?”, he added. “He looks pale as a ghost”, he chuckled.

Ewyn laughed, but hit him in the shoulder. “Hey, I’m also pale-skinned!”

Scott smiled. “But you’re not creepy, most of the time anyway.”

She smiled back at him, resting her head on the table and letting out a small sigh. Everything was confusing, and the times were changing fast.

*

John and Parrish were strolling around the fortress of Ashenfort, avoiding the grounds where the blood of the Boltons was still soaking the dirty soil. It was already late evening, and both men were still in their armors. They had been talking for a long time, but there seemed to be so much to catch up to after all the years of exile. John felt like so many people he’d thought dead, people that his life revolved around, had just come back and he had a reason to be in the world again.

“Will… will Stuart want to see me again?”, John asked, unsure. “He’s all I have left. Claudia and Stiles won’t…”, he hesitated, “they won’t come back”.

Parrish stared at him sympathetically. “He’ll come around, because you’re all he has left too. Even if he doesn’t know”, he said, sighing.

“He had you”, John said, simply, not an accusation but a statement. “Thank you for holding on to your promise”, he said, smiling weakly. “What have you two done all these years?”, he asked.

“He… he’s been preparing to fight the Argents someday”, he said. “We’ve known they were to blame since the Day of Fire”, Parrish said, grievously.

“Lydia Martin eventually figured it out in Sylune”, he added, calmly. “You know the rest of the story from there.”

John nodded, staring at him while he heard him intently.

“Sometimes”, Parrish said, hesitant, piercing John with his green eyes. “At first it felt wrong but… I know we’ll find no justice from Gerard”, he stated, simply.

John didn’t say anything, but he averted his gaze. He understood.

“Sometimes Stuart thinks that Stiles is still alive, somewhere…”, he blurted out, absently, looking at the horizon.

John raised his eyebrows, but then his face was overcome by sadness.

“He needs to hold on to something?”

Parrish nodded sorrowful. “It’s what gives him a reason to wake every morning; well, it did, and then Lydia Martin helped a lot too”, he said, “She’s been training in the dark arts with him.”

John winced. “Have you, too?”, he asked, his face troubled.

Parrish denied with his head. He tapped his fire sword with his hand. “I’ve been training my fire”, he said, “but you’ll have to wrap your mind around the fact that Stuart is a Nyctian now”, he said.

John stopped on his feet, letting out a deep breath. “I know”, he said. “I just wish I’d been there before he was pushed to the darkness”, he said.

Parrish squeezed his shoulder, reassuringly. “I’m sure you’ve done great things where you’ve been”, he said, “Ewyn seems a very interesting companion”, he added.

John smiled weakly. “She’s amazing”, he said, “I love her like she was our daughter”, he said.

“Our?”, Parrish said, raising an eyebrow, fondly.

John almost blushed, but he let out a quiet laugh instead. “Melissa and Scott are like my own family now”, he said, “it’s how we’ve survived.”

Parrish let out a sigh, but then he smiled. “I’m sure Claudia would want the best for the both of you”, he said.

John managed a smiled, happy but hurt with the pain that always came from remembering his Queen; the true Mother of the Kingdom.

*

Jennifer ran for as long as she could, hurt and dehydrated, feeling weak and dizzy. She almost fell to the ground a few times, and her dress was already ragged beneath her cloak. She tried to run not too far from the road, but didn’t get close lest she was captured by Syns loyal to Peter, and identified. She heard howling behind at some point, close to the Grey Bridge, that was being heavily patrolled. Before she could reach it, she stumbled upon a wall of muscle, and looked up to see Derek Hale’s blank face. She managed to utter some words.

“They… killed, them all”, she said, before finally fainting and falling in his arms unconscious. He stared at her old friend, pale and wounded. He became enraged at her state. At the same time, Cora came from behind the same trees Jennifer had. She shifted back to human to see what was going on.

*

Jennifer woke up on the other end of the river, and how they crossed to the Riverlands she did not know, but it was probably not through the Grey Bridge. She coughed as Cora Hale tried to give her some fresh water, which she thanked immensely because her mouth was dry. She didn’t feel nauseated anymore, but she had a dull ache all over her body, and was utterly exhausted. She opened her eyes, and was thankful it was already night time because she’d have been blinded even by the sunset light.

Derek sat close to where her head was lying, and Cora let him and sat beside him. Jennifer could see Argent banners in the distance, but there wasn’t a camp, and it was probably less than a dozen of people. They were servants, not soldiers.

She didn’t identify the three people that were behind Derek, looking worried as he stared at her.

“Jennifer… are you okay?”, he said, his voice soft.

She coughed. “I… I think so”, she replied, trying to get up or at least sit, but Cora quickly pushed her down, shaking her head.

“Stay like that”, she retaliated, a bit annoyed.

“Okay”, she said, offering no resistance, closing her eyes.

“We need you to tell us everything”, Derek said, impatient.

She tried to put her thoughts in order. Tears started forming in her eyes, but she didn’t break.

“It… it was horrible. They’re all monsters”, she said, horrifying herself with the memory. “Peter Hale executed them all, he… he forced them to confess lies”, she added bitterly, “and no one did anything!”, she screamed, tears rolling down her face to the blanket she was sleeping on, slowly.

“Who was there?”, Cora asked, her voice a bit more gentle.

Jennifer tried to focus, a low throbbing inside her head, aggravated by her quiet sobs. “Lord McCall. Sir John. Sir Parrish. Lord Whittemore. The Second Ewyn…, they were all accomplices…”

Derek’s eyes widened as his expression showed hurt and confusion. Cora looked at him briefly, then looking back at Jennifer. “And what did they lie about?”, she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“They said…”, she tried, coughing, the tears rolling down her face faster now, making a mess of her, “that Stuart was innocent. That the Argents and the Boltons were to blame for the Day of Fire… they promised Deucalion to spare his sons if he confessed but… but…”, she said, her voice drowned by her crying.

Cora let out a sigh, and stood. She put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, pressing strongly. “Enough for now”, she said, “let her rest”, she added, turning to leave and motioning with her head for Isaac to follow her.

Derek was left staring blankly at the crying woman, not knowing what to do, say, or think.

*

Isaac and Cora were sitting by the southern margins of Clearwaters, looking at the water flowing downstream. The moon was high in the sky and there were a few clouds.

“Derek will have to tell Kate later”, he said, “I don’t see anywhere this heading to ending well…”, he said, letting out a deep breath.

“This is going to end in war”, she replied, sighing, throwing a stone to the water. It splash all around before sinking, “and there’s no coming around”, she said. “Peter has tricked the Northerners into thinking the Dark Prince is their savior, or will soon enough anyway”, she spat out, bitterly.

Isaac ran a hand through his hair, worried. “Scott…”, he said, absently.

Cora looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “What?”, she asked.

“It’s nothing”, he said, dismissing it. “I just hope they don’t attack us right over the bridge tomorrow”

“They better not”, Cora said exasperated, “…and so much for the Second Ewyn”, she said. “How can a Holy Mage serve the darkness?”

“They’ve probably tricked her too”, Isaac said, worried. “Erica and Boyd have told me about her… it’s… nothing makes sense”, he said, tired.

“I know”, she said, stern, “Derek seemed to be fond of her. But who cares what makes sense when there are heads rolling around already”, she stated,  “You either fight against Stuart and Peter, or you help them”

Isaac nodded, sighing sadly. “I wish everything went back to an easier time”, he said, longing.

Cora ran a hand through her hair, exhausted. “I wish my uncle hadn’t turned back”, she said. “I used to love him”, she added emotionless, and Isaac turned his head to look at her. She averted his gaze, staring at the moon.

“But that’s of the past”, she deadpanned.

 

**Grey Bridge, May 1018 AN**

On the first day of the fifth month, the Argent envoys, lead by the King’s daughter Katherine, Lady of Storm Cape, were stopped by the Syn guards in the Grey Bridge. The bridge had been built around a thousand years ago and was the strongest and biggest one that communicated both shores of Clearwaters. It followed the trail of Nessaria’s devastation, going from New Winterfell to Sylune, and it was now under the supervision of Peter Hale’s men. They’d prevent the Vallese and Saurs loyal to the crown from coming to North.

The structure itself was a long expanse of grey stone, and there were two gates in the edges that could be opened or closed from either side. But as both sides were controlled by the Hale soldiers, the Crown heralds didn’t even pass the gate on the southern section. The guards stood there, forming a wall, several feet away from Kate Argent’s stallion, and her men circled behind her. She looked at the other men coldly, before speaking.

“I request access to the Highlands in the name of his Holiness King Gerard I Argent”, she said firmly, looking down at one of the soldiers. The man swallowed hard.

“That… that won’t be possible, m’lady”, another soldier said, stepping forward. He didn’t look like a Syn, she thought, and was probably Fluvian. His Vallese accent definitely was. “Lord Peter Hale has given explicit order that no one crosses Clearwaters”, he said.

She scowled, furious.

“What?” she spat out, taking the reins of her horse to move forwards a bit, showing the beast’s side to the soldiers and staring down at them. She turned to look at the few Marshmen she’d brought along as Argent bannermen, on behalf of the King and herself. She spoke to them in Draconic.

“The lapdogs haven’t understood”, she hissed.

She turned to look at the soldiers again, which had taken a step back. “I don’t care what your Lord says”, she added bitterly, “This is an order from your King”

Before the soldiers could answer, they heard horses trotting through the bridge and the gates opened quickly.

Soon the Northerners made an appearance. They spread around, with Peter Hale on his black stallion in the middle, wearing his dark wolf battle armor. On his right were Lord McCall, Scott, Sir John and Ewyn on a white mare. On his left, Sir Parrish and Jackson Whittemore.

Kate gasped as she took in the sight of the many traitors. By her side, soon, Derek and Cora Hale came forward, with Erica, Boyd, and Isaac with them. There was a moment of silence.

Isaac was hurt when he saw Scott, but a pressure was lifted from his shoulders to finally know he was alive, that he had survived after he’d thought him dead for long years. Derek gritted his teeth, and Cora held her reins so tight her knuckles whitened. They glowered at his uncle, whose expression was unreadable. He barely spared a glance in their direction, looking down at Kate instead, flashing red with pride.

Then Ewyn caught Derek’s gaze and she froze, swallowing down the lump in her throat. Derek looked at her scornfully, and then averted his gaze to keep looking murderously at his own uncle. Ewyn didn’t understand a single thing, and she felt anxious like the sky would fall down over them. Somewhere, a branch cracked and it thundered in the tense atmosphere.

“Lord Peter Hale”, Kate started, condescendingly, “your men must’ve misunderstood”, she added. “I have orders from the King that you shall let us pass. Unless you want to come down to Sylune for an audience”, she said, “His Majesty would appreciate that, now that the Boltons have been… demoted”, she concluded, with a hint of disgust.

Peter Hale smiled and soon burst into an acrid, loud laughter, as most of the Argent men stared in horror. His factions went back to normal, with a hint of amusement.

“There was no mistake”, he said, loudly, “We serve another King now”, he added, with a rough voice.

Parrish and John looked at him with a hint of worry, but Peter kept smirking down at the Saur. “And when I travel down the Path of Ashes to Sylune, it won’t be for an audience”, he concluded, smiling defiantly.

Kate bit her tongue so hard she bled inside her mouth, and she took hold of her reins quickly. She was about to speak when a voice surprised them.

“Murderer! You killed Laura!”, Cora Hale screamed, breaking the silence, and everyone looked at her.

Her eyes were watery, and she was flashing yellow at her uncle. Peter looked at her, piercing her with his blue eyes, devoid of emotion. He tilted his chin up, and spoke calmly.

“The worst murderers here are the Boltons and the Argents, and they have to be put down”, he explained, looking at his own men, who were in shock too. “They killed Queen Claudia and Talia Hale!”, he said, raising his fist in the air, clenched, and then pressed it to his heart.

“They killed their family members, and Deucalion has confessed to it!”, he said. Then he looked down at Cora, her voice rough and a bit shaky. “They killed me!”, he rasped.

Cora’s mare, Albina, took a step back at the growing anger emanating from Peter, and Cora didn’t find any words, only hate and sadness flooding her mind. Kate took over.

“This is treason”, she said, simply but angrily. “And it will not be tolerated”, she added. She turned her horse to face her own men, giving her back to Peter. She turning her head to look in his eyes one last time, but his gaze didn’t waver.

“If you don’t stand back and give up the North to the true Hales, the ones that don’t bend for the shadows…”, she said, eyeing Derek shortly, “You will be at war with the Crown. You have one month”, she added, staring back at him.

“So be it”, Peter spat out, bitterly, grabbing the reins of his own Stallion to turn around as well.

There was hushing and insults as both parties separated. The Northerners returned through the grey stones of the bridge, and Ewyn was more confused than ever, feeling terrible about the upcoming war and Derek’s mysterious allegiance with the dragons. He was a Syn, what could that accusation about Laura be about?

The Argents and Derek’s pack returned through the Path of Ashes, down the Riverlands and its green, lively fields in the morning. Cora felt nauseated, hurt in every way possible. Derek’s mind was blank, because what Jennifer had told them was true. Ewyn was with her best friend and the Dark Prince, because Scott was half-Syn. He felt terrible as well, but he had to be strong, because now that Peter was dead to them, Cora was his only family, and him hers. He had to save the North and make things right, just like his mother would’ve wanted. Even if that meant helping King Gerard, as things were.

   

**Grizzly Hills, May 1018 AN**

Later in the night, back at an inn in Ashenfort, Ewyn and Scott were drinking ale together, trying to enjoy the last month of peace they had. They were chatting animatedly when Jackson joined them, staring down at them and raising his chin proudly. Scott looked at Ewyn, who rolled her eyes, but he just shrugged. Jackson kept staring at Scott, who didn’t look away but didn’t respond either, just smiling as he drank. Ewyn was the first to break the silence, tapping with her foot on the floor uncomfortably.

“Well, look, I thought your armor was attached to your body. But you don’t look so bad in daily clothes!”, she said with fake enthusiasm, “Who would’ve known”, she added, sarcastically, looking at his black shirt.

Jackson raised his eyebrows, taking a sip and then putting it down. “I always look good”, he replied, simply, and Ewyn couldn’t help but bark a laugh.

Scott elbowed her, but she just looked at him with an open mouth. “What? That he’s Peter’s son doesn’t mean we can’t have fun”, she said.

Jackson hit the table with his fist, furious. “You measure your words, little Saur”

Scott cleared his throat. “Forgive her, she’s lived in Pentos for so long she’s forgotten about chivalry”, he said.

Jackson looked at the both of them. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve come to talk about Stuart, actually”, he said.

“Ewyn”, Jackson spoke, “Are you loyal to our cause? You know how betrayal will be punished”, he added, severe.

Ewyn seemed unfazed. “I know”, she said, “And my loyalty is to Sir John and my friend Scott”, she said, simply, daring him.

Jackson scowled, but seemed to accept it. “Whatever”, he said nonchalantly.

He turned to look at Scott. “And you?”, he asked, looking at Scott.

Scott smiled. “I will fight for the North and my father”, he said, solemnly. “Even if that means going against the Argents”, he added hesitantly.

Jackson kept looking at him. “I was betrothed to Princess Allyson, didn’t you know?”, he said, smugly.

Scott almost bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, but he kept his resolve to get along with his fellow warriors, if only for his father.

“That’s of the past now”, Ewyn chimed in, “since House Martin and House Whittemore no longer serve Gerard”, she said.

Scott looked at her, nodding.

“Yeah”, he added.

Jackson looked at Ewyn, almost wincing, but just stood up. “You two better prove your worth”, he said, staring down at them. “And you”, he said, looking at Scott, “that you deserve to carry your father’s name”, he added.

“We could say the same thing”, Ewyn retaliated, leaning back and crossing her arms, looking amused as Jackson’s face became red with fury. “Has the King of Darkness already given you a royal decree”, she teased, leaning closer to the table, “Son of _Hale_?”

Jackson furrowed his brow. “Parrish has told me he will, immediately”, he barked. He turned without another word and stormed off, airily.

*

In Peter’s headquarters within Ashenfort, the two Sylunite knights, Sir John and Sir Parrish, and the two Syn lords, Lord Hale and Lord McCall, were leaning on a small round table, standing around a map of the Holy Kingdom. The morning light filtered in through the windows and lit the ash-grey room that once belonged to the Boltons. The decoration was simple, mostly the dark stone bricks visible in every wall, with open windows and a fireplace in the deep end. There were few carpets, but there was a red one below the table. They weren’t far from the door, and a servant had just left to go downstairs. He’d brought enough wine to last them at least another hour, on Rafael’s command. John took a sip readily, wetting his dry lips.

Parrish had just been reading correspondence from Stuart, and they were already preparing for the war, since it was his wish that Peter not step back or accede to any of Gerard’s requests. Peter had complied with a smile, throwing the letter to the fireplace as he watched it burn with his icy eyes, and now they were already delving into the tactical details.

Peter walked away from the table, back to the fireplace. He stared at the flames once more as he spoke, his hands together behind his back. He spoke calmly and methodically.

“It looks like the King of Darkness wants us to trick the Scaled…”, he said.

Parrish cleared his throat. “My Lord, Stuart knows they have more men. Following his plan is probably the best course of action”, he said, “We’ve been perfecting it for a week and it seems quite solid. He only needs to arrive at the right time, and he will”, he added.

“I was hesitant at first”, Sir John said, looking at Peter’s back, “but my son is probably on to something…”, he said, “Parrish said he’s educated himself well with Nyctian scholars…”

Lord McCall let out a deep sigh. “Neither the Siblings nor Stuart have ever fought a war”, he said, not upset but not happy either. “Letting the Sylunites through the Grey Bridge to give them a false sense of advantage may backfire”, he argued, pointing at the line of Clearwaters with his finger, on the map.

Parrish looked at Rafael from his side. “They’re more, but with the Osternis legions Jackson brought, it’s still not enough for anything to backfire. They’ll cross the bridge and they’ll be ambushed”, he put simply.

Peter turned around to look at McCall, who fell silent. “We will follow his plan”, he stated, “even if it seems incautious to you”, he added, looking at Rafael, who simply took a step back.

“I thought you would prefer to have as little Northerners die as possible”, Rafael rasped, trying to hold his anger.

Peter’s expression didn’t waver. “Stuart will not be questioned”, he deadpanned, and after a stop he continued. “This is war. There will be as many deaths as it’s required to ensure our victory”, he added. “No more, and no less”, he concluded, looking at him coldly before turning back to stare at the flames again. The room was left in silence.

“Enough for the morning”, he said, as Rafael put his hands on the table, defeated. “You should all take a rest”, Peter added, in a more friendly tone, as Sir John nodded and squeezed Parrish’s shoulder. Everyone began walking towards the door. Soon the knights left and Rafael was alone, staring at Peter’s back, who was unmoving.

“I just want Scott to be safe”, Rafael blurted out, not being able to hold back. Peter smirked, but it remained unseen.

“That’s understandable”, Peter said. “And he will”, he continued, turning to look at him again, “He was the little Prince’s friend, after all.”

He took a few steps to stand in front of him. “You just have to make sure both him and his companion the Saur stay true to our cause and King”, he concluded, piercing Rafael with his icy eyes.

Rafael was about to open his mouth to say something, but he just averted his gaze, nodding and staring at the ground. Peter let out a short sigh and squeezed his commander’s arm.

“Trust Stuart”

 

**Sylune, May 1018 AN**

In the Argent Residence of Sylune, Allyson was visiting his mother, Victoria. They were in one of the terraces that overlooked the Strait, and it was nearing sundown. They’d been arguing profusely, and were in a terrible mood at the news from the North.

“What good did it ever do to you to befriend them”, Victoria mumbled, furious, “Good that your aunt has come from the Marshes to set things right”, she said, “You still have a lot to learn from her”.

Allyson looked hurt. “My friends…”, she said, hesitant, as she averted her gaze. She knew Jackson and Lydia had betrayed her, but she had received a letter from Isaac telling her about Scott. She felt a pang of guilt in her chest when she knew Scott was alive. That he’d been alive for all those years, and she’d thought he was dead. But her relief came with a new shadow looming above, namely that he was Rafael McCall’s son, and had presumably joined the Northern cause. As had the Second Ewyn everyone was talking about.

Her mother seemed to calm down, now more disappointed than angry. “I knew since the moment I heard the name of Allaris that that Saur would only bring us problems. I wonder if she’s already pacted with the Dark Prince to use Allaris against us!”, she said, looking at Allyson.

Allyson let out a sigh. “That’d be awful”, she replied, sincerely.

“I wish it hadn’t come to this”, her mother said, “and that you’d played your part better”, she sentenced.

Allyson looked up at her mother, her expression unreadable.

“But we will make this right as a family. As the guides of the Holy Kingdom”, she said. “Gerard and Kate will give them war if that’s what they want”, Victoria said. “I hope it doesn’t come to the point that we have to unleash Belerion against them, but I’ll do everything that is necessary to protect our lands”, she explained, defiant. Allyson nodded. Victoria’s look hardened. “Will you take up arms for your family, like a true Scaled?”, she asked, trying her.

“Of course I will, mother!”, Allyson said, taking her hand. “I’ve been a fool for not seeing things for what they were”, she said. “I won’t disappoint you again”, she added, her face stern. She left behind her more feeble emotions to face the dire situation they were facing. “I’ll prove it.”

Victoria smiled, cupping her daughter’s cheek in her hand, and touching the columns with dragons carved in them afterwards, resting. “You’ll have the chance soon”, she rasped, “as will every capable warrior that defends Sylune”, she said. She looked at the sinking sun, letting out a deep breath.

“Which reminds me of Isaac’s little friend and the Hale siblings”, she said. “I don’t like that Syns are fighting amongst our valiant Saur warriors”, she added, “or even the Sylunite and Vallese”, she went on, her tone scornful at anyone who wasn’t from the Marshes, “but if they’re against Peter Hale, we’d be a fool to let them go”

Allyson nodded. “Cora and Derek may be Syns but they’re skilled fighters”, she replied, looking at her mother hopeful.

Victoria grinned. “Yes, and more importantly, they’ll be the key to the North once we’ve won”, she added confidently. “Your grandfather is probably talking now with your father and your aunt”, she began saying, “and they’ll share some tactical detail with the Syns”, she finished.

“Only some?”, Allyson asked, raising her eyebrows.

Her mother smiled dryly. “Your father will inform you afterwards”, she said, stretching her hand towards the sea. “But them”, she added, “We’d be fools to trust fully”, she concluded, and Allyson let out a sigh.

She turned to look at the sea as well. The sun was gone.

*

In the Throne Room, King Gerard had met the Hale siblings, and they’d both gone with him to court to discuss affairs for the upcoming war. Kate was confident Peter wouldn’t yield, so she’d convinced her father, the King, to begin with the meetings and summon a council. Around the King’s table, staring at a relief map of the Holy Kingdom carved in a tablet, were Sir Christopher, Lady Katherine, Derek Hale and Cora Hale. Erica and Boyd had also sworn their loyalty to the Saur King, refusing to let Derek fight without them, vowing his cause to be their cause. Derek would inform them of their roles later on. Kate had explained her strategy to the Hales, who’d pondered it in silence, before looking at each other and raising their eyebrows at her.

“You want _us_ to lead the vanguard?”, Cora asked, her voice skeptical.

“With me”, Chris said firmly, taking a step back and looking at them. “If we are to fight together in this”, he continued, as solemnly as he could, “we need to trust each other”

The King spoke calmly. “I want Peter to go down as much as you’ve said you do”, he added, looking at Derek, “to avenge the North and your sister, the Young Wolf”, and he stopped speaking for a moment.

“This is our best strategy”, he finally said.

Derek looked at Cora briefly before looking back at Kate. “Good. I like being in the vanguard, anyway”, he added, harshly, “I can’t wait to take him down myself”, he continued.

Cora smirked, looking at Chris, who had raised his eyebrows. Kate seemed amused. “Good”, she echoed. “We’ve come to an understanding, then”

Gerard cleared his throat to speak again. “We’ve devised our plan trying to predict what they’ll do regarding their position in the Grey Bridge…”, he said, as he continued to explain the details.

Derek and Cora looked intently. Like Allyson and Isaac, they’d left behind their ties to face the upcoming war, and shed their doubts in favor of what was, unmistakably, justice against the Dark Prince and the Hale usurper. If they lost, a Kingdom of Darkness, founded on lies and blood, would be the only thing remaining in the Eastern Lands.

And there would be no one left to defend the truth.

 

**Dragon’s End, May 1018 AN**

In the Temple of Bones, after a noon ceremony, Stuart and Lydia were standing before the altar. Opposite to them was the Dark Lady; she was about to tell them the latest news that had arrived from the Nyctian spies. Behind her was the biggest window opening in the temple, a wide sight to the red dust of the mountains. Stuart was looking up, distracted, as Lydia waved her hand in front of him to call his attention. She smiled and he let out an aborted chuckle. The Dark Sister’s face was brighter than usual, reflected in her violet eyes, staring into theirs. She put her palms against the dark onyx of the altar, letting out a deep breath.

“Peter Hale does as he was bid to so”, she said, and both Lydia and Stuart grinned. “Your friend Parrish is truly a loyal one”, she added, firm.

Lydia smiled and grabbed Stuart’s arm, moving closer to his side. “Isn’t he? Stuart did well to keep him around”, she added, smiling.

Stuart showed the hint of a smile too, nodding at her and then looking back at the Sister.

“They’ll adhere to our strategy”, he told Lydia, sure of himself, “It’s a good plan. Gerard will fall like a moth to the flame”

“Of course it is”, Lydia said, separating from him smoothly and looking at her grandmother, “like anything I invest myself in”, she added, proud of her idea. “If he thinks he can outsmart us, he’s wrong”, she smirked.

Stuart ran a hand through his hair, licking his lip. “Now all we need is to be patient”, he added, though he started tapping his foot.

The Dark Sister seemed to notice the irony, and stared down disapprovingly. He stopped, squinting his eyes. Lydia’s smile widened.

The Sister spoke. “You’re one of the best necromancers even if your true powers are yet to awake”, she said, “powers you will need if you are to be a dragonslayer”, she continued.

“I have enough to crush Gerard”, he said, his fist clenching.

Lydia nodded, and looked at her grandmother, furrowing his brow.

“Never be overconfident”, she warned, “your last task isn’t finished”, she added, “and if you truly are the King of Darkness, you should know…”, she began saying.

“A King should never sit easy”, he agreed, almost huffing, “but I won’t be sitting, anyway. I’ll be in the battlefield, and I’ll avenge my brother”, he said, full of resolve. Lydia nodded.

“We’ll do it for the true dynasty”, she said, proud.

The Dark Sister nodded at them, looking up at the ceiling of bones.

“After all, there is only one true ruler. May Death take its toll”, she said, extending her hands towards them.

Each took one, and then they held their free hands together under the altar, taking a deep breath. “So be it”, they said in unison.


	6. The Contested Lands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for war has come. The Kingdom is split, and Ewyn finds it hard in her heart to choose sides.

**Grey Bridge, June 1018 AN**

Derek rode past the Grey Bridge when Christopher Argent’s soldiers killed the guards there to secure their domain over Clearwaters. The royalist armies then invaded Grizzly Hills, with him in the vanguard. His horse stepped fast over the old stone and left behind the green of the Riverlands. The look on his face was determined, and he could only hear his own breathing and the clash of his armor; he had his wolf helmet on too. He was pondering how his uncle still had Laura’s blade and how he wouldn’t allow him to sully the Hale name with his treason.

By Derek’s side were Boyd and Erica, also riding swiftly. Passed the bridge, they went into the orange and yellowish forests of the Highlands, towards Ashenfort and the Syn camp around it. They had a clear mission in mind, and they had to do it quickly if they wanted their plan to succeed. The screams of the few unyielding guards in the background faded in the distance as they entered enemy territory.

*

Kate was still in the southern end of the Grey Bridge, carrying herself an Argent banner. It consisted of a red dragon in a black background, and she held it high, smiling proudly. By her sides were Cora and Isaac. Cora was also on her mare, wearing dark armor similar to her brother’s, with her ice blade unsheathed.

Isaac was just returning, walking towards them. He came from the small conflict to secure Grey Bridge, his chest still heaving. He had a slight burn mark in his forearm from casting a thunder spell through his blade. In the distance some of the corpses seemed to be charred, with smoke rising in the air, an omen of the destruction that would soon befall. 

Isaac stopped to rest, crouching, next to Cora. She looked down at him briefly and simply nodded, coldly. Isaac looked up at her, agape and panting, and nodded as well, then sitting by Albina’s side. He was wearing a King’s Guard armor, one of the best in the kingdom. It no longer shining and new but had the first blood it would see splattered over his spaulders.

“The path is clear”, he informed, his armor clashing as he sat.

Cora mumbled something to herself, and then spoke out loud. “The path we shall all follow”, she said.

Kate looked back at them, first at Cora, her face blank, and then at Isaac, turning her stallion to face him. She let him see her thunder blade. “You did a good job”, she said, satisfied. They remained in silence for some time as Kate looked down on him.

“Tell me, Isaac”, Kate went on, raising her eyebrows, “do you know how they used to call the Highlands?”, she said, “Grizzly Hills?”

Isaac shook his head to deny. He’d never read much about history, although Allyson had told her things about the Marshes, mostly, and how the first Scaled tamed dragons.

“The Contested Lands”, Cora replied, staring coldly at Kate.

Kate nodded, her cloak moving with the wind to one side, allowing them to see better her unblemished olive armor. She didn’t wear a helmet, so her reddish brown hair also moved with the breeze. She smirked as she began to spoke, “Syns and Saurs have never gotten along”, she added, loudly, as she looked at the distance to the Grey Bridge and the river.

Cora huffed a laugh as she looked at her briefly, but then both of them turned to Isaac as Kate explained. “Grizzly Hills belongs to the North now, but during the Saltharien Empire they were ruled from the Bay. The Scaled were sovereign over the Highlands, until Aeron himself”, Kate continued.

Cora stared at Kate, but then she looked back at Isaac.

“And before the Salthariens massacred the innocent people of the Valley and pushed them towards Death”, she added, bitterly, “Syns and Saurs often fought for control over these lands… until they founded Sylune, more than three thousand years ago”, Cora continued.

Isaac seemed interested.

“Do they understand your language in the Highlands?”, he asked, raising his eyebrows.

Cora nodded, smiling for a moment. “Yes, Iberish is spoken in most towns close to the Dark Lands… you can see Syn presence all over the Hills, even in Osternis”, she said.

Kate nodded; her face expressionless.

“That’s indeed why Osternis, even if technically Vallese, has sided with the Whittemore boy…”, she added grievous, and then looked at the wolf, “or should we say the Hale boy?”

Cora scowled. “Neither of them deserve the Hale name”, she sentenced. Isaac grimaced.

“I have no cousins”, she continued, as resolved, “and anyone who sides with Stuart will pay for their dishonor to the North”, she concluded.

Kate smiled, turning to keep looking at the river, her back to them.

“The Dark Prince will meet the Death he seeks so much”, she cheered.

 

**Grizzly Hills, June 1018 AN**

Ewyn remained by Peter’s side when she heard the battle horn, warning of the royalist incursion, just as they had predicted. From atop the Highlands, their men went down to face the few thousand men Kate had sent their way from Grey Bridge. Peter received information from a young courier girl that the vanguard was lead by Derek Hale himself, and Chris Argent. Peter raised his eyebrows as he motioned with his head for Sir John to follow him into battle. The exiled King Father had his Queen’s Guard armor.

He nodded and rode down the hills to confront his former knight-comrade and friend. Back at the Stilinski court, during the days Claudia ruled and the Light still shone in the Holy Kingdom, it was long left behind.

Ewyn grimaced when Peter told her the news.

“Doesn’t it sadden you to fight against your own nephew?”, she asked.

“Emotions don’t matter in war, girl”, he replied, coldly. “And idiocy isn’t forgiven by the blade”, he added, “Derek will see to his own fate”

He looked at the horizon, where the few thousand loyalists that had been sent through the bridge crashed with their own men. Peter wasn’t sure what they were up to with so few men, because they’d most certainly have to retreat sooner than later. He wouldn’t yield within the Highlands.

“We _all_ will see our fates”, Ewyn replied, looking at him defiantly, as she took the reins and rode into battle as well. She stared at the warriors, already fighting each other in the distance in a chaos of metal, blood and cries. She thought that among those was already her friend, Scott McCall, son of Lord McCall.

*

John eventually met Chris in the battlefield. They still carried their old swords, the ones they’d used to protect Claudia together, and were now wielded against each other. They stood defensively, already on their feet. They weren’t too far from the main places of the battle, but far enough not to be disturbed by the other soldiers. Chris’s blade lit up, but he let it down when he saw John’s face saddened.

“You’ve been alive all this years”, he said, surprised, “It was true.”

John nodded, raising his own sword in the air. “I have”, he replied, simply.

Chris seemed angry. “You were my best friend!”, he accused, angry, as they looked at the battle sideways, on guard for what could happen next. Chris grimaced as he heard cannon fire.

“Why did you hide?”, he asked, desperate.

“How would I come back?”, John spat back, lashing out all his frustrations, finally, “ _How_? And what would I come back _to_?”, he emphasized, “My dynasty was dead, and I thought my son was a monster for so long”, he explained, “as did the whole Kingdom! But then I learned the truth…”, he said, smiling weakly.

“What truth?”, Chris asked, frowning.

“Chris, I wouldn’t fight for Peter Hale if I wasn’t sure that your family killed my wife with the Boltons. They confessed it all”, he said, screaming over the noises, “I don’t know who is trustworthy anymore, but if you had nothing to do with it, it’s your father you should be fighting!”, he said.

Chris’s eyes widened in shock. “That is treason”, he blurted out, screaming. “Exile has made you insane!”, he said, outraged.

“I can’t make you believe me”, John stated, smiling weakly, “but I’ll fight until my last breath to defend the last family I have”, he added, “because the blood of Claudia and Talia is on the hands of Argents!”, he screamed, pointing with his sword at Chris.

Chris gritted his teeth and looked at John furiously. “You’ve made your own choice”, he said, as he charged towards John. His thunder blade lit up and clashed with his loudly.

They fought fiercely, and it was when they were pushing their blades against each other that the horn sounded.

*

Deeper within the battle, Lord Rafael McCall found the way through the soldiers. Covered in dark armor, and bloodied blade in hand, he came to the place where Derek was still on his horse. The Northern men were hesitant to attack a Hale.

Rafael was the first to charge against him, forcing him down his horse, at the scream that true Hales didn’t fight against the power of the North. Derek quickly rose and they began fighting, and other people arrived and surrounded them. Rafael stared at him, gritting his teeth as Erica and Boyd advanced to confront Scott, who’d come behind him with Jackson.

Jackson seemed scared as he tried to take Boyd, but the mercenary was relentless and he was in clear disadvantage, his movements too slow in his armor. Boyd more experienced than him, and his father wasn’t there to help him. Erica engaged Scott, her movements swift and precise. He was also at disadvantage even though he’d practiced sword fighting with Ewyn back in Pentos, and all of them had trained when they lived in Sylune. Derek was quick to overpower Rafael, and the three of them realized they needed to do something if they didn’t want to be defeated by the royalists.

Ewyn arrived and got down from her mare to look at Boyd and Erica in surprise. Her heart clenched, but she was resolute when she remembered Derek’s harsh and heartless stare, the one that pierced her soul in the bridge. She was holding a staff, and had no armor over her commoner clothes and white shirt. She’d come from the flank furthest from the heat of the battle, where she’d already helped out a few injured Northern soldiers and distracted some of the enemy ones.

She distracted Boyd first now because Jackson had it worse, blinding him with a magical light and then running towards Scott while he took Jackson’s hand. When she was about to get there, she saw Derek’s cold eyes following her. He pushed Rafael McCall away, roaring and almost shifting. He looked sideways at Erica, and she nodded at his boss, taking a purple powder and blowing it at Scott. The young man breathed some and quickly fell to the ground, unconscious. She was grinning, and she crossed Derek’s path to stop Ewyn on her advance, looking backwards briefly to check Derek moved. He grabbed Scott’s unconscious body, carrying it over his back and looking at Ewyn with his cold, blue eyes. He was fully wolfed out.

Erica whistled, and soon Boyd started to retreat from the battle, back to the Grey Bridge. Derek led with Scott, and he joined Erica soon, giving Ewyn one last glare before turning. Ewyn was about to run when she heard a yelp of pain from Jackson, whose arm had a blunt wound from Boyd’s hammer. As she turned she heard a different horn sound. In what seemed slow motion, she noticed the royalist armies withdrawing. Rafael was still in the ground, staring stupefied at the distance, where Derek was already far down the hills.

Ewyn swallowed; her eyes wide with fear. “Scott…”

Another scream and the bleeding from Jackson forced her out of her trance,  to assist him. He was greeting his teeth. She was still absent-minded when she knelt by his side and took his hand. “Resist”, she said, as she started casting the green healing light and she turned her head downhill once again. Derek had disappeared. Erica’s grin was stuck in her mind as she let out a deep breath, feeling the lump in her throat tighten.

 

**Riverlands, June 1018 AN**

When Scott woke up, he was chained and tied to a wooden post. It was dark and he didn’t know where he was. The last thing he remembered was defending himself from Erica’s swift dagger. He was shirtless and his shorts were worn-out. His mouth felt dry and his head throbbed; every joint hurt.

Not long later, someone came in. The light from the outside blinded him, so he could barely make out the shape of a man carrying a wineskin. He let himself be given the water as the man softly pulled his head back and put the spout in his mouth. He drank enthusiastically. When he spoke, Scott noticed it was his old friend Isaac. Apparently, he was now in training for the King’s Guard.

Scott tried to open his eyes and talk, but he was exhausted.

“How much…”, he tried, with a coarse voice.

“Two days”, Isaac replied, his voice not quite angry but devoid of emotion, “Just rest”, he offered, putting a hand over his shoulder.

His face softened when he looked at his old friend’s state. He couldn’t stop himself.

“Scott, why? I need to know”, he asked, softly.

Scott made a grimace and his face showed confusion. Isaac cleared his throat.

“Why do you help your father, Peter, Stuart…” he said, “He killed your friend, Stiles. Stuart’s madness sent you to exile and I haven’t seen you in five years!”, he said emphatically.

Scott couldn’t take it all in, and his throat still felt sore, but he tried to talk.

“St… Stuart is innocent”, he said, “Gerard killed Stiles”, he blurted out, looking at Isaac in pain.

Isaac took a step back, his mouth agape, but his expression hardening.

“I see”, he said, dryly. “You’ve been brainwashed”

Scott tried to talk, but he ended up coughing instead. He felt like throwing up. Isaac stared down at him.

“You’re our prisoner now, so it doesn’t matter”, he added, “But it’s a shame that Allyson has to see you like this”, he concluded, with pity, and turned to leave.

Scott felt his heart clench as all the feelings he’d tried to shove in the back of his mind resurfaced, upon hearing his former love’s name. He felt guilt, shame, longing and pain when he thought about how disappointed she’d be, but he knew she was wrong… or at least he had known. He wasn’t sure about anything anymore, feeling dizzy. He’d just met his father, but his friend Ewyn never quite trusted Peter Hale, and even his mother said something seemed off.

He still hated Stuart, because even if he’d found out he was innocent, he’d hated him for five years. He’d believed he killed his best friend, Stuart’s own brother, Stiles, and it made no sense. Scott wanted to scream, but he just dropped down, exhausted, his thoughts fading into a silent blackness.

*

Derek and Cora were sitting by a table in the Riverlands camp, well past Aldor. The Argent men-at-arms had been resting after their retreat several days ago. There were news the Syns had finally advanced past the Grey Bridge, but they couldn’t advance south Aldor unless they wanted an open confrontation. As it was, Peter Hale was stuck between Clearwaters and the city of Aldor, and he didn’t seem to be moving from the green fields any time soon. Kate Argent sent a young courier from Aldor to deliver the Syn Alpha a message. Cora saw him leave with one Argent banner and the scroll in hand, his clothes a remarkable red.

She also saw Isaac as he left the prisoner’s tent. He shook his head, and she squinted her eyes, sighing and looking back at Derek. The sun was just rising and the morning breeze was still cool. She felt a shiver as she remembered about her uncle, and her blade lit from her rage.

“The first mission was a success and I don’t even feel like celebrating”, she said, annoyed, “unlike Kate”, she added, disdainfully.

Derek scoffed. “Nothing to celebrate”, he agreed.

She ran her hands through her hair. “If we got Scott to collaborate…”, she said, “maybe your little friend would stop being Peter’s lapdog”, she continued.

“I don’t want to think about it”, Derek replied, standing up to leave.

He took a deep breath. Cora raised her eyebrows, annoyed, but just let him be. Erica, who was sharpening her dagger close to them, just shrugged.

*

“Unacceptable!”, Peter said, hitting the table loudly with his fist.

The guards around him took a step back and it startled Rafael.

“Send that stupid courier away before I take out his entrails”, he threatened, glowering at the distance.

The Argent bannerman was already running away. Peter’s eyes flashed red and he was digging his own nails into his palm so hard he bled.

“How did you and Holy Mage allow for the McCall boy to be kidnapped in front of your eyes?”, he asked, furious.

“It just happened so fast”, said Ewyn, who was standing now by the side of Rafael.

Sir John put a hand on her shoulder, and let out a sigh.

“Lord Hale, I wish I’d been there, but I was confronting Sir Christopher”, he added unhelpfully.

Peter eyed him briefly before setting his look on Ewyn again.

“You should’ve done something”, he accused.

Ewyn furrowed her brow and spoke back angrily.

“I did something! I helped your son not bleed out after embarrassing himself, isn’t that enough for you?”, she replied, “Don’t you think we didn’t want Scott kidnapped either?”

“I don’t care what you wanted”, Peter said, with a rough voice, “you failed, and no one fails me or the King of Darkness, understood?”, he added, flashing his eyes at her, “There are no second chances”

She swallowed, intimidated, and nodded before Peter dismissed them all.

*

“It’s been two weeks already”, Ewyn told Melissa over some ale.

It was night at the camp. They looked around, and reassured themselves that no one was eavesdropping. Ewyn approached her to whisper.

“The Syns are growing more impatient each day”, she said, “I don’t like the waiting,… even if the generals think it’s the best course of action for whatever the royalists are plotting”, she explained, “…but Rafael is having a terrible time”

Melissa looked pale.

“He’s losing faith”, she said, “He’s beginning to question Peter’s judgement and the Dark Prince’s cause… I need to tell you something, but neither Parrish nor John can know”, Melissa pointed nervously, her voice stern.

“Especially John. He’s blindly loyal to Stuart now… and I don’t think I can blame him”, she added, sad.

Ewyn nodded, urging her to speak. Melissa told her about Rafael’s secret.

Ewyn’s eyes widened as she heard the truth about Laura’s death from Melissa. Rafael was drunk; and he’d confessed to her, the previous night, that Peter himself took her Alpha powers because she’d refuse to collaborate with the Dark Prince.

Even if Stuart had no part in the Fire, something about which Ewyn was more skeptic now than ever, Peter was guilty. Exactly what Derek had warned her about… and she hadn’t realized in time.

She had always known there was something off with Peter. But it wasn’t too late yet. She took Melissa’s wrist tightly and looked at her, her heartbeat rising as she looked in horror.

“We need to leave”, she said, “to get Scott, to warn him”

Melissa just nodded, holding back her tears.

“We can’t stay here”, she added, with a feeling of urgency.

“The tension is going to burst in Aldor soon”, Melissa said, sorrowful. “May the Light protect us all then”

“The Light left the North a long time ago”, Ewyn replied

She stood up and hurried to her tent. Melissa did the same, stopping only to take a glimpse back at the girl. Her pace fast, long limbs and pale skin moving through the night, reminded her of Claudia. Melissa let out a sigh when she remembered her friend, always devout to the Light.

“What should I do?”, she mumbled to herself, looking at the stars. She tried not to cry.

  

**Dragon’s End, June 1018 AN**

During a clear night, with darkness already enshrouding the mountains in the Ridge, Lydia was about to leave for the Riverlands. She’d have to travel through all Dawn Fields, which would take her a few days. She was cloaked and carried nothing but some small knives for self-defense. What she would bring to the Syn camp, and to Peter Hale, would be the personal word of Stuart. She was looking at her King right now, before getting on her white mare, as he placed his hands around her shoulders.

“Stay strong”, he said fondly, and moved forward to place a small kiss over her lips.

She entwined her arms around his neck and melted into it, savoring him before she left. She felt satisfied and ecstatic. She didn’t look forward to the war, or to fight her friends, but she looked forward to the power they could wield together. They could be extraordinary, make things right in the Kingdom after so many years of misery. And they had to do it right, if Stuart’s plan was to succeed. She’d be the first part put into play.

“I will”, she said, determinate, “Our souls are one now”, she added.

She took his hand, clenching her fist around his palm. A faint glow shone and reflected in their violet eyes.

Stuart nodded, and soon they broke apart for her to leave. Stuart saw her put her hood on, commanding her mare to move, and kept looking as her as she disappeared. Her figure hiding through the narrow passes of Raszira’s rest, he wondered when he’d see her again.

Neither they nor Lydia’s grandmother were happy about the course of events so far. But that was precisely why Lydia see to making things right.

  

**Riverlands, July 1018 AN**

The sun was high on the sky, shining over the Riverlands and Peter’s camp by Clearwaters. It was on the first day of the seventh month that the leader was informed Lydia Martin had arrived from the Northeast. A lone rider requesting access to their camp. He readily granted it and soon she was settling down and requesting someone to show her the way. He asked the soldier to keep the caged dove she’d brought. When she was done talking, she’d send the animal back to Dragon’s End to let Stuart know about the camp first-hand.

In no time she was in the commander’s tent with Peter Hale, Sir Parrish, Sir John and Jackson, who stared at her proudly by the side of his father. His arm had already healed. All of them were wearing armor, and Jackson had acquired a new one in the darker Syn colors and lupine motifs. She eyed him briefly but turned to look at Peter, who seemed amused by her presence. She raised a hand to put her messy hair from the travel away from her face. The inside of the tent was well lit, she realized as she put it into a ponytail. There were only a few tables inside, over the soil, and it was a bit too hot. She eyed Sir John briefly too, who was staring at her with sad eyes.

She nodded, and Peter finally broke the silence.

“Lady Martin”, he said, slowly, “to what do we owe the pleasure?”, he asked, smirking. “Your new hair color suits you, _Dark Lady_ ”

Her look didn’t waver. “So does your new complexion”, she replied, almost a whisper, before clearing her throat. She looked into his eyes defiantly. “I bring orders from Dragon’s End”, she said.

“Is that so?”, Jackson spoke too carelessly, taking a step forward, but Peter put a hand over him to stop him from advancing.

It worked. Jackson took a step back and cleared his throat, staying awkwardly where he was.

Lydia grinned. “I see you’re getting along.”

Peter smiled.

“What are these orders?”, he asked, his expression oddly joyous. Sir John looked at him briefly, and Sir Parrish walked towards her from Jackson’s side. She looked at the pyromancer as she spoke.

“Stuart wants us to attack as soon as possible”, she said, “and he’s given me strict instructions for who you should be seeking in the battle”, she added.

“Parrish”, she said, her voice determinate, “you’re to fight Cora Hale”.

Peter Hale raised an eyebrow. “I see. We can discuss the details later. You’ve been well informed about my rebellious nephew and niece, I take”, he said.

She looked at him, squinting her eyes slightly.

“We hear all sort of rumors in the Ridge”, she was quick to add, “all sorts”

“Stuart expects the utmost loyalty”, she continued, looking at all of them, especially Jackson, who averted his gaze from her.

Parrish also did, and Lydia knew something was going on.

“That’s why orders are to be strictly followed…, especially after Rafael’s failure”, she added. “I want to talk to him and Ewyn”, she added.

Peter gritted his teeth, and was first to speak, apologetic.

“Ewyn has escaped the camp. We think she’s changed sides. Melissa, Scott’s mother, left with her; but you can talk to Rafael later. He’ll tell you everything he knows about them.”

Lydia clenched her fist, bringing it close to her waist, as she bit her lip.

“The Holy Mage has sided with the Argents?”, she asked, slowly.

Parrish just nodded, look stern.

“Do you realize what that means?”, she asked, angrily, looking at Sir John.

“I’m sure by now he’s already turned Scott to their side”, she added, “you should’ve never let them take him prisoner!”, she blurted out.

Peter’s jaw muscles tensed, and he took a step forward.

“It will not happen again”, he said, decidedly.

Lydia smiled widely, as fake as she could, adding in a dry tone, “Of course not. That’s why I’m here”.

They stayed in silence until Lydia raised her gaze again to meet Peter’s cold blue eyes, and she spoke firmly.

“Lead me to Lord McCall”

*

Ewyn and Melissa raised their hands as soon as they got surrounded by Argent bannermen. Sir Christopher soon arrived, getting through the guards to stare at Ewyn’s guilty expression. He raised his eyebrows.

“We come from Aldor. We surrender to King Gerard”, Melissa provided, quickly, “We want to talk to Derek Hale and Kate Argent”, she added.

Ewyn just shrugged at one of the guards, who’d been staring at her with a confused look.

Chris got closer, walking up to Ewyn, who let her hands down when he nodded at her. He looked at Melissa.

“You’re Scott’s mother”, he said, quickly, identifying the woman, “you lived with Queen Claudia”, he added, in a softer voice.

She simply nodded.

He bit his lip, hesitant. “How do we know you’re not here to deceive us and free Scott?”, he added, looking at her.

Melissa was about to open her mouth when Ewyn cut her to speak. “Look, I know you have no reason to trust us, but we know the truth about Laura’s death now”, she said, as Chris stared at her intently.

Boyd arrived from one of the sides, pushing some guards to his side to listen. Ewyn turned her head sideways to take a glimpse of him.

“I’m a Holy Mage and I swear for the Light I’ll fight against the Dark Prince”, she said, sincerity in her voice and eyes, “and Melissa’s just a mother who wants the best for her son”, she added softly.

She continued talking as Chris crossed his arms.

“We’ll both convince Scott, everyone we can, that Peter and Stuart are murderous tyrants”, she added. “I… I felt I was with the wrong Northerner, deep inside, from the first moment.”

Melissa got close to her and squeezed her shoulder, nodding at Chris. “I swear for Queen Claudia”, she added, “that she speaks the truth. We just want to help”, she explained.

Ewyn could swear Boyd nodded and turned away, possibly to tell the Hales about the newcomers.

Chris Argent seemed to ponder it for a minute, before he finally took a step back. The man commanded the guards to be dismissed. He motioned with his hand for the two women to follow as he turned around, his cloak against the breeze. His back to them, they heard him speak.

“Follow me to my sister’s tent”, he added, “and let’s tell her about that help you’re willing to give us”

*

Lydia and Jackson were right outside Peter’s camp, close to a stream. She was washing some of her clothes in it, wringing a cloth when she looked back. She saw Jackson cutting a tree with his blade, angry. She walked back to him, pressing her hand against her forehead, feeling feverish under the afternoon sunlight. There were few clouds in the sky.

After his practice they rested for a while, in comfortable silence. Jackson lay on the grass instead when he got tired of sitting. He looked up at her and spoke.

“I liked your hair red better”, she said.

“To the point of writing songs about it like Prince Stiles?”, she teased.

Jackson rolled his eyes. “Whatever”, he said.

“Lydia”, he started, putting together courage to speak his heart, “Why did you leave without a word?”, he added, “I… I was worried”, he said, finally.

Lydia let out a deep sigh.

“If you didn’t know, Allyson couldn’t make you speak”, she added, “at least then”.

Lydia looked at the river, pushing away good thoughts of her former friend. They were at war now, and she’d eventually have to confront her. She’d better make it the least painful she could, for the sake of both of them.

Jackson closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and letting it out. “It sucked”, he said, simply, “But after that, seeing Parrish and Peter has really been good for me”, he added. “I’m going to make him proud”

Lydia sighed.

“You wouldn’t be so unhappy if you didn’t constantly worry about fulfilling everyone’s expectations”, he said.

He scoffed, looking up into the sky. “Don’t you know how that feels? Like you belong somewhere?”, he said tentatively.

She nodded, looking down at him.

“Actually, the current Dark Sister in Dragon’s End is Lorraine Martin”, she said, “my mother always kept it a secret from me. I thought she was dead”, she blurted out, leaving Jackson agape.

He quickly turned to kneel, his weight resting over his arms. He stared at her wide-eyed.

“Your grandmother is the leader of the Nyctians?”, he asked, confused.

She simply nodded, not very expressive.

“I… I always thought it was only because of Stuart”, he admitted, defeated. He looked at his hands in the soil, digging.

“I tried to tell you”, she said, weary, “but it doesn’t matter now”.

“What matters is that we win the war”, she added. “That we defeat Belerion and Gerard”, she went on firmly, looking at the horizon. A strong breeze blew through her dark hair.

Jackson was at a loss for what to say. He just laid back again, prodded by his elbows, and let out another deep sigh. “Things have changed so much since those days”, he said, “but you’re with him now, aren’t you? Do you love him?”, he asked sadly.

Lydia looked at him coldly. “Jackson, our bond goes deeper than you’d understand”, she said cryptically. “He understands me like no one else can, always has”, she said.

Jackson bit his lip, visibly upset. “Casting magic doesn’t make you more intelligent”, he said pettily.

She just squinted her eyes. “It doesn’t. Wearing armor doesn’t make you a stronger warrior, either”, she added.

He raised an eyebrow.

“And names mean nothing in war”, she pointed. His other eyebrow met his first one.

“What do you mean?”, he inquired, curious.

“At first we didn’t believe it was true”, she said, “that Derek and Cora Hale survived Belerion’s devastation”.

Jackson’s heart clenched at the memory of the day his parents died. Well, his father and his father’s wife. Even if now he had a new family, he couldn’t help feel sad about the memory of his father. He couldn’t say the same about the woman that neglected him.

“They’re pretty much alive”, Jackson said, “Derek’s probably become a savage from living in exile”, he explained, “He even brought some mercenaries with him… I fought against one of them”, he added smugly.

Lydia smirked. “Parrish’s already told me the Holy Mage had to save you”, she said.

Jackson seemed annoyed, but ignored her mocking tone.

“Yeah, Ewyn was a good healer”, he added, “but she’s a traitorous bitch now.”

Lydia gritted her teeth. “I’ll help Stuart defeat as many dragons and Saurs as it takes…”, she said. “Can you imagine what that feels like?”, she asked him, visibly altered, “That they take your family and blame it on you for five years?”

Jackson had never really stopped to empathize with his nemesis, but her words reached him, and for the first time he felt bad about Stuart. He knew Queen Claudia, and she was a good woman. She didn’t deserve to die. And the Scaled, the ones that bore his very Saur blood, had blasphemed against the Light to kill the Hale family.

“I… I guess this would be easier if the Hales joined Peter”, he said hesitant, “but that’d mean…”

“You would no longer be the heir to New Winterfell?”, she noted, raising an eyebrow.

Jackson nodded, looking at the horizon and letting out a sigh.

Lydia smirked. “That depends on the ruling monarchs and even Peter too, doesn’t it?”, she added.

Jackson looked at her intrigued.

“Look, I’m not saying I wouldn’t welcome their help”, she said, raising a hand, “but they seem to believe the rumor that Peter killed their sister Laura to take the North… and that Gerard’s a saint”, she mocked, “so I don’t think they’re going to help us any time soon, not if they haven’t after the Bolton confession”, she concluded.

Jackson smiled weakly. She looked at him fondly for the first time in many years.

“Hey, cheer up. Cora always has been an irreverent little shit too”, she remarked, “We’re better off without her, anyway”.  

Jackson let out heartfelt laughter, and some of the tension lifted off his shoulders. The strain of the armor and war had taken him by surprise, still so young and inexperienced.    

*

Ewyn was headed to Melissa’s tent as the woman left, a smile on her tired face. She carried some skins of water and an empty plate. It was late in the afternoon, but she had just eaten herself. Ewyn nodded at her and afterwards she pushed the canvas aside to come in. She stopped to look at Scott. He’d already been freed, washed, and was much happier. The weeks he’d spent in captivity had weakened him, and he was still disoriented, but his mother’s arrival had brought him back on his feet.

Ewyn walked to sit on the table with him, smiling too, and he returned her smile weakly. She held his wrist and he nodded. She proceeded to cast a healing spell to alleviate the marks from his shackles. He let out a small whine and Ewyn grinned, looking up at him again, now that she had located the wound.

“Are you feeling better?”, she asked hopefully.

 

He nodded and let out a little sigh. “Not too bad”, he said, his voice rough, “but I’m still feeling a little dizzy.”

“That’s normal”, she replied, tapping her fingers over his wrist. He looked at her fondly.

“I’m glad you came”, he said, “…that you convinced my mother”, he explained, “I knew you wouldn’t ever trust Peter completely”.

Ewyn averted her gaze and sighed. “It was just so complicated, and it all happened fast”, she said, “the invasion, your kidnapping… I don’t know who I should trust anymore”, she said, sorrowful, “but I knew I couldn’t stay there”.

Scott looked at her intently, raising his eyebrows, but didn’t say anything. She continued.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t run it through you first, but given the situation…”, he said.

Scott nodded, biting his lip. “You did what was best…”, he said, sighing again, “even though this means we’re fighting against my own father now.”

Ewyn looked troubled.

“He was very worried about you”, she said, “I don’t even know if he understands the extent of Peter’s actions…”, she said, hesitant.

“Scott, did they treat you badly?”, she asked, even more worried. Her spell increased its potency, and the green light shone brighter. 

Scott looked at her, his expression unreadable.

“It wasn’t pleasant”, he deadpanned, clearing his throat, “but they didn’t torture me”, he said. “Chris wanted me as warning, more than anything, until King Gerard arrived”, he explained, “and that hasn’t happened yet”.

“So information about…”, Ewyn started asking, as she was cut by Scott.

“That won’t be a problem anymore, because my mother told them everything”, he put simply.

Ewyn looked at him warily. “She did the best for you, Scott.”

“I know”, he said. He ran his palm through his face, tired.

“I hope… John, your father, even Jackson”, she said, “…that we can somehow convince them”, she pondered.

Scott had never seen her so unsure. He tried to break the tension.

“Calm down, we’re safe for now, you and Melissa, that’s what matters”, he said, “…and who knew you’d care about Jackson”, he added, raising an eyebrow. Ewyn let out a loud chuckle.

“Sure”, she said, with a voice a bit too high.

Scott seemed to drift away as he smiled fondly and looked at her. “Isaac also made sure to bring me food and water every day”, he said tenderly.

Ewyn smiled, pressing gently over his healed wrist.

“Good”, she said, “maybe he and I can be friends, then, or something”, she ventured, and Scott’s smile just became wider.

“Now the other hand”, she urged. Scott moved his now-healthy wrist tentatively, happily smiling at the lack of pain.

He gave her his other wrist as she pulled her tongue out, playful.

*

Cora returned to the Hale tent, and she looked over at Erica and Boyd, who were lying peacefully on the ground. They were close to Derek’s bed, asleep, Boyd resting his head over Erica’s chest. It was well past midday, but the night before they’d been training late.

Derek was sitting on his table, writing something when she heard her come in. She kept staring even as he resumed his task, and she sat opposite to him. His face was paler than usual, and he had noticeable bags under his eyes from not resting properly. He looked up at her, who was still staring in silence, almost glowering. He raised his eyebrows, the feather in his hand the same black color as the rest of his clothes. She still had her armor on, as evidenced when she moved, to placing her arms in the table loudly.

“I was with Isaac and Ewyn just now”, she said, and rolled her eyes as Derek went on with his writing. He looked down at the paper and simply acknowledging her with an _uh-huh_.

She let out a sigh. “You’re being a jerk about this”

He looked at her upset, and spat out, “Cora, what do you want?”

She furrowed her brow, scowling, matching his anger.

“I want you to stop wallowing and do something about it. You’ve been miserable by staying away from that girl ever since we came in the Holy Kingdom, since that night”, she added.

Derek gritted his teeth, but didn’t respond.

“Don’t you dare deny it”, she continues, “I’ve known you since we were kids, Derek”, she said, exasperated.

“I’m not bothering anyone”, he said simply, defeated. “She doesn’t see things the same way I do”, he added, sorrowful. Cora’s expression softened. She silently asked for an explanation, tilting his head forward and raising her eyebrows.

Derek bit his lower lip for a moment, but then his face became stern. He let out a deep sigh. “She’s been cold to me since we first came here. Whatever she felt about me, it’s gone”, he said, “and now we have something more important in our hands”, he concluded.

Cora leaned back on her chair, unsatisfied. She let out a sigh.

“Maybe Syns and Saurs really don’t match”, she added sorrowful. “Or maybe this whole war will fuck us up even more”.

Derek looked at her sadly, but said nothing.

“At least now Scott, his mother and her are on our side. They’ll help us give Laura justice, against Peter”, she said, with righteous fury.

Derek simply nodded, resuming his work. Erica and Boyd had just woken up from their brief nap and were yawning and stretching. Cora looked at them, getting up herself.

“You two lazy birds, get up and let’s train again”, she told them, cheerful but authoritary.

Erica smirked. “Too bossy for the morning”, she replied, and Boyd smiled. Derek smiled too, hidden in his paperwork.

Cora left the tent first, tapping on her cuisse loudly.

“War will not wait for you to be ready”, she said airily, as she disappeared into among the Vallese soldiers outside.  

*

Kate and Chris were looking at Aldor and Clearwaters in the distance, from atop a tall green hill. The sun was setting in the horizon, well past the shores of Osternis. Its orange hues shone vividly against their Saur armors. Kate’s dragon helmet was in her hand, and their twin blades were sheathed on their sides. Her hair blew with the wind and her expression was stern. She imagined his enemies going down in a bed of red, just like the sun.

They had been planning their imminent attack, but it was most likely the Northerners would be the first to raid them, before King Gerard arrived. They had to be ready. Chris felt uneasy, looking at Peter’s camp, the man that had come back from the dead to kill her niece and turn so many nobles against his own family. At the other end of the Valley were the mountains of Dragon’s End, seen sharp against the darkening sky. His heart clenched when he thought about the Nyctians, and all the legends surrounding their resistance against the Dragon Lords two thousand years ago. 

“The time is coming for us to prove ourselves to father”, Kate said solemnly, and Chris nodded. “He will bring our little Princess and Victoria with him”, she added, “…so we should give them a good reception.”

Chris smiled weakly at the mention of his wife and daughter.

“He’s pleased the Second Ewyn is on our side now”, he said, “the Light must favor our cause against this darkness”

Kate looked back at him, mouth slightly open and eyes amused. She just nodded, looking back at the shimmering river in the distance.

“Isaac has told me”, Chris said, as a strong gust of wind came their way, forcing them to look away for a moment, “that Ewyn and Derek met each other in exile”

“Is that so?”, Kate asked, nonchalantly, without looking at him.

“Yes”, Chris said, nodding, “but they barely talk here”, he continued, explaining, “He’s busy with his sister and his mercenaries, and she’s helping Scott train again”, he finished.

Kate let out a laugh. “Good I didn’t do with him as I originally planned”, she said, “or maybe the Light wouldn’t have smiled so much upon us”, she added. Chris just kept looking at the river.

After some moments in silence, he finally turned to go back at the camp, leaving her behind. He stopped when he heard her voice from behind, calm but loud.

“You should be prepared for the battle anytime now”, she said, “and this time, we will take Peter down”.

“For the Realm”, he added, staring down the path in the mountain.

 

**Riverlands, July 1018 AN**

In the twentieth day of the seventh month the Syns attacked without a warning, Peter and Lydia behind the men. The furious wolves rushed to the lands surrounding Aldor, like a black swarm. The Northerners were vibrant and loyal to their leader, with faith in their cause. Everyone wanted the Argents and Belerion to be defeated, and the Darklanders lusted for a more independent North. One under a Hale, free from the Boltons, the shameful Syns that bent the knee to a Scaled. Unforgiving, each warrior advanced south to meet the Argent bannermen, who were already blowing their horns to warn their own soldiers.

Chris Argent managed to see from afar when they passed Aldor, cavalry crossing the town, slaying the men that called against their heresy. He grimaced as he went back to the camp, to warn Kate. Their already planned offensive was set in motion in record time. They managed to meet Peter’s army and thousands of men in the open fields halfway from Aldor. That day the grass was dyed red.

Mounted on his stallion, Chris rode amongst the sea of metal, ignoring the clash of swords and the splatters of blood, determined to find Sir John and finish what they had started. East Thunder was already beaming with energy, empowered by Chris’s righteous fury, within its sheath. Kate rode by his side on her own stallion, and her blade West Thunder lit up similarly. She smirked, her hair shining redder in the midst of the battle.  

The battle fully unleashed and thousands of men fought against each other, as they had in the Contested Lands, each for their King and Lords, believing their cause just.

The bloodbath eventually found Sir Chris fighting Sir John again, this time without hesitation, until both were exhausted and their blades blunt. John’s once golden armor stained red. He caught his breath when Chris was kneeling before him. John held his blade in one hand and pointed at the Argent menacingly. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his other hand, never breaking eye contact with his former friend. Chris looked up at him, furious, and screamed over the heat of the battle for him to hear.

“Even Scott and Melissa see there is no justice in Stuart’s cause! Peter is a kinslayer, John! Stop this nonsense! Your family is gone!”, he said, with sweat and perhaps tears of rage down his cheeks. He stood up and clutched the hilt of this sword with both hands, “They are since the Day of Fire, and nothing will ever be the same!”, Chris sentenced, as he charged forward.

John avoided his blow, looking down at him. Chris moved past him and lost his balance briefly. John didn’t show him his back, simply spun to keep staring at him with shock.

“You’d do anything for Allyson”, John said, almost a whisper, but he knew Chris heard because he looked back at him pained.

“I’ll do this for Laura Hale and for you; for both noble families”, Chris said, tilting up his chin and facing him again, “I took my vows as a knight with you, I swore to your wife I’d defend the Realm you two ruled”, he went on, his blade glowing stronger each time. The heat of the electricity sent away sparks and turned its orange into white, the gap barely visible.

“I’ll draw my last breath knowing I kept true to that oath”, Chris said lowly, not moving.

“Will you?”, he asked then, louder, as he charged against John again.

John’s eyes opened wide as he wielded his sword in the air, with both hands. He hoped his remaining strength was good enough to withstand Chris’s thunderous fury. He felt the pain of the memory of his wife, always in his mind, from the day he first saw her smile.

*

A Syn soldier was helping his limping friend get back to Peter’s camp. It’d probably have to be solved by an amputation. They heard a loud roar from behind, looking to see two former nobles from the North, Derek Hale and Cora Hale. The man he felt a shiver when he remembered Talia’s son and daughter, from years ago, now fighting against their own uncle and spreading rumors of kinslaying to support Gerard’s cause. Anyone that fought against the freedom of the North would face the same fate, though. As the Boltons’ execution had proven, the North never forgets betrayal.

Derek Hale was fighting against an enraged Rafael McCall. Derek fought with his longsword, as did Rafael, both in similarly dark armors. Derek’s helmet had been on until one of Rafael’s blows threw it off, leaving a small cut in his cheek that healed soon. He fiercely roared at the man and flashed his eyes blue, rage filling him with a thirst for blood. He’d cancelled everything else out, including Cora’s own fight against Sir Parrish, the Dark Prince’s right had, in his vicinity.  

Rafael was himself exhausted, but filled with the desire to make things right about the kidnapping of his son.

“Lydia warned us but I’d never have believed Talia raised someone so detestable”, Rafael screamed angrily, “to deceive my son with your lies!”, he added, as he charged against Derek.

The wolf grunted and breathed deeply before meeting him halfway, gone berserk. Rafael was about to be defeated when they were distracted by a nearby explosion, and both looked sideways. They fended off the gust of wind with their hands, their cloaks rising in the air with the aftershock. It’d come from when Cora was, and his eyes widened.

*

Cora waited for the dust around her to settle to open her eyes. She was standing in the middle of the explosion, with her crystal clear blade in the air, shining blue intermittently and protecting her from the fire that had engulfed her. She stared at Parrish, who was standing in the distance, moved away by the very explosion he’d casted. His chest was heaving and his fire blade was already on the ground, smoking, black instead of the bright white it’d shown before.

Cora was wearing her Syn armor, which acquired the typical eerie blue glow, now strong, in the cracks and her own carvings on it. She was wielding Ragnar’s tear and she fought against Parrish’s Scorcher. The man himself wore his golden and orange Nyctian armor, with shoulder plates in the form of flames. He had as well his Dragon Shield, and a crown of energy that served as a helmet; a ruby floated over his hair amidst the thin red ring of pure fire.

Cora pointed her blade at him decidedly, channeling a spell of her own, to throw a jet of blue energy at him. He deflected it with his dragon shield as his eyes widened, not quite ready from the ordeal. He managed, anyway, and not long afterwards their magical blades were already clashing against each other. They let out grunts and screams of anger.

Parrish was gritting his teeth, trying to melt her blade with his own’s temperature, and she was already sweating but resisted. On the other hand, Parrish’s hands were already cold from her continued freezing, and he would soon be unable to move them properly. The situation was dire for the both of them.

She was the first to break the silence.

“Aren’t you tired of being Stuart’s lapdog?”, she said, “After all these years, after Sylune was destroyed, you kept doing the same thing, by his side?”, she asked, bitterly.

Parrish’s green eyes flashed orange as his blade was engulfed in pure flame, and he swung the sword. She stepped back, managing to avoid the attack but feeling the heat very close to her body. Too close; she was slipping. He felt his hands become more and more sensitive with the heat, so he continued doing the same to recover.

“You will never forgive yourself for helping the same Argents that killed your mother”, he replied, as bitterly, defending himself from her strike this time. Her blade never seemed to unsharpen, no matter how blunt the blow he gave her.  

She ignored his words, and kept speaking with the same tone as before.

“Why doesn’t he stop hiding in the night and comes to face us?”, she asked, “Is he scared to fight against me that he has to send you?”, she accused, punctuating the last word as she surged forward.

He almost lost his balance from her particularly strong strike. Her eyes flashed yellow, and inside her mouth her fangs started to protrude.

Parrish let out a grunt, trying to overpower her.

*

Ewyn was riding with Scott amidst the chaos. He’d chosen to fight, even if he wasn’t fully recovered from his time in captivity. Ewyn said she’d compensate, staying by his side until he was at his best again.

She used an astral light to blind several now-enemy Syn soldiers, who tried to stop them. They were directing hurtful slurs at the Saur Mage and the disloyal bastard. She ignored them and continued forward, Scott holding to her waist tight. She rode with the wind, hood and cloak discarded. He was still wearing his own armor, but she had only her clothes on. Ewyn didn’t need armor, though.

They finally spotted what they were looking for, and Scott felt a lump in his throat. Jackson was standing over Isaac, crushing his chest with his boots. Isaac’s thundering blade was away from his reach. He was sprawled on the dirt, face flushed. Jackson was staring down at him with a smirk, with his sword pointed at his former squire’s neck. Isaac was struggling to escape.

“My father paid for your training, and this is how you repay the house of Whittemore, you little shit?”, Scott could hear him say from the distance. His nails dug into Ewyn’s waist deep enough to draw a little blood.

She just hissed but understood, and instead of riding right towards them she steered the horse to the right. In the last moment, she jumped off the horse to kick Jackson mid-air and shove him away from Isaac. His armor clashed loudly and they both rolled on the ground painfully. There was a cloud of dust and she added a light spell to dazzle Jackson as she got up. Ewyn moved away to avoid being hit by Jackson’s blind fury, the young man swinging his blade without coordination. 

Scott had taken the horse’s reins hastily, and he commanded the animal to stop soon after. He got off and ran to where Isaac was, still prodding himself up and coughing. He looked up at Scott with a smile, and Scott knelt to give him his hand. He helped Isaac up, smiling too, and both quickly looked sideways to see. After the dust settled, and a furious Jackson came from inside the cloud. Ewyn had stepped back and was now close to them. She walked backwards to Isaac’s side, where she tentatively reached backwards to touch his chest in acknowledgement.

“You okay?”, Scott said, and Ewyn gave them both a quick glance, looking expectant at Jackson, who was coughing.

“Yeah”, he rasped, “Someone has clearly taught him to defend himself against thunder magic”, he added, wiping the sweat and dirt off his cheeks.

Jackson took a step forward, coming out of the cloud and tilting his head to look arrogantly at the three of them. He pointed at Isaac, in the middle, with his sword, “The future Queen, Lydia Martin”, he replied, proudly.

Isaac frowned at him. “Allyson will be Queen”, he added, furious. He broke contact with Ewyn and Scott to take a step forward.

“And why isn’t this Dark Lady fighting by your side, you bastard of a murderer, huh?” Ewyn said, raising her voice.

Jackson turned to look at her, the only one among them not wearing armor. He pointed at her with his blade now. “Shut up, you stupid girl”, he added, “I always knew you were two losers, good for nothing”, he said, looking in between Scott and Ewyn. He took a deep breath, still bothered by the dust in the air.

“When she comes she’ll put out your little light single-handedly”, he added.

Scott frowned at the threat to his friend, and he took a step forward himself. “You will all bow to the true King”, he added, “and the Light will always shine beyond your lies”.

Jackson chuckled and looked at him with despise. “You had your chance to be someone, and you threw it away”, he said, “but I’ll be true to my father”, he added, pressing a fist to his chest.

Scott clenched his and pointed at him. “When I was training under Stiles in Sylune, you already had a name, and you were no one because you never felt like you were”, he added, “You’ve always been an idiot who can’t understand what belonging is because you’re unable to have any real friends”, he ranted, furious.

Jackson’s eyes widened.

“Stiles may be gone, but I’ll always fight for his Kingdom and his Light!”, he added, “and all you’ll have left is blood ties to a murderer; and you aren’t even strong enough to overcome him because you feel heartbroken!”, he screamed. Jackson took his blade between his two hands, eyes injected with fury. Ewyn felt moved by Scott’s loyalty to his friend, and feared the idea of the Kingdom succumbing to the darkness.

Scott stared at Jackson, unwavering, “You’ll never be someone just because you have a bloody title”, he spat out. Jackson screamed and went berserk, charging towards him.

Ewyn heard an explosion on her side and she looked in the distance to see two warriors, who appeared to be Erica and Boyd. They were fleeing from a series of explosions, and when the flames faded she could see who was behind. It was Sir Parrish, The Dark Prince’s right hand, a Nyctian pyromancer as she’d been informed. She looked at Scott and Isaac, who were now openly fighting Jackson. She announced her departure, and Isaac nodded briefly as he turned around again to keep fighting.

Jackson’s swings were clumsy and, the product of blind rage.

*

Ewyn ran towards the mercenaries. The sun was low on the horizon beyond Clearwaters, and the sky was already orange, beautiful and in consonance with the magical flames. She saw that not far from Boyd and Erica was Cora, kneeling and with one hand on her shoulder, trying to freeze a wound to stop the bleeding.

Ewyn hurried towards her as she saw Boyd and Erica struggle against Parrish. She felt anxious that he’d defeat them. Neither wore any armor, and they were skilled melee fighters, but Parrish wasn’t letting them anywhere near him. When Ewyn reached Cora she knelt and quickly initiated the healing spell. The cold could stop the bleeding, but it would also make the part numb and harder for her to move her arm. She smiled at Cora.

“We need to take him off Boyd and Erica”, Cora added, hissing, her voice pained. She winced at Ewyn’s pressure against her shoulder. Soon, however, she began feeling relief at the soothing light.

Ewyn nodded. Her eyes widened as she saw Erica dodging another fireball, and Boyd tried to reach Parrish, but a line of flame on the ground stopping him from doing it. She could feel the heat from several feet away.

“I have an idea…”, she said, smiling, “Have you ever combined frost and light magic?”, she added.

Cora raised her eyebrows. 

*

As the battle went on and more soldiers shed blood on the soil of Aldor, Kate found herself riding her stallion to find her own worthy opponent. She rode towards the heart of the battle, the orange sunset beyond Clearwaters in the horizon. Eventually she started having more Syn warriors in her surroundings than Saur ones, and they began to try to take her down. She unsheathed her sword, still mounted, and used it to swing a blast of electricity. It sent several of them flying back, away from her horse, not disturbing her relentless chase for the one she wanted.

She looked around to see his brother, still fighting Sir John in what seemed to be a very long, tiresome combat that could end in a draw. She still thought her brother would win, though, if only because of East Thunder.

Jackson Whittemore was fighting against both Isaac and Scott. She’d seen both of them as kids, she knew Jackson had more training, but if that fight kept going on against the two of them and he was unassisted he would lose. She smiled to herself as she saw his exhaustion. Jackson’s chest was heaving and he was gritting his teeth in frustration. Her smile disappeared when he saw he’d hurt Scott and that was why he was staying back. The young man was bleeding, dripping blood from his shoulder, below his armor. Jackson was smirking.

But she had no time to stop, so she rode on. The last thing he saw before reaching her target was Ewyn and Cora, fighting against Sir Parrish. Boyd and Erica lay on the ground, unconscious. Parrish looked exhausted, but his gaze was determined and he relentlessly matched their physical and magical attacks with his flaming blade.

Kate took a deep breath as she rode past a group of men that were trying to block her way. She channeled the thunder of her blade to cause an explosion where the three of them were. That cleared the way, roasting them. The blast raised some of the dust and when it began to settle, she grabbed the reins tightly to tell her horse to stop. She got off slowly as she smirked, finally seeing what she wanted.

Lord Peter Hale was standing there, his sword still sheathed and a grin on his face as he kept making eye contact with her. She got closer until they were only a few feet away. They took the time to take the sight of each other in. She saw his armor was polished and perfectly clean. His skin was pale as death, and his eyes were bluer than the sky. She wasn’t scared, but she felt apprehension at the mystery behind them.

“I never thought I’d see you again”, Kate said, cheerily, “or your nephew”, she added, crackling scornfully as she stared down at him.

Behind Peter there were no more of his men, just the landscape of Aldor’s shire, untainted by the bloodshed.

Peter didn’t rise to her provocation, and in fact his grin widened into a smile.

“I was just hoping to spite as many people as I could by coming back”, he said calmly, as her smile disappeared. She felt frustrated that he wasn’t angry, and she pointed her sword at him.

“Fight me”, she added, the tension increasing each second, “In the name of King Gerard I, I will send you back to whatever hell you’ve come from”, she continued, a bit too solemn for her taste.

Peter openly laughed as he tapped his own blade twice, beginning to unsheathe it.

“It is funny”, he said, baring his teeth before speaking again, “that you would seek fair combat”, he added.

“Do you know what _Hell_ I’ve come from?”, he asked with a rough voice, stepping forward. He pointed his own sword at her.

She took a step back and grimaced.

“Belerion’s, on that day…”, he said, his voice low.

Kate clenched her fist around the hilt of her sword, and now took a step forward, determinate. “You may still taste the ashes again”, she added, spiteful, “and meet your sister”.

Peter tilted his head to look at her, his eyes expressionless. “You don’t fear fire, do you”, he asked, “You’d _love_ to see the Kingdom burn”, he continued, his voice creepy and low.

She swallowed loudly, her eyes wide, baffled by his words.

“I’ll give you something else entirely”, he said seriously, and he finally wielded his sword well, pointing at her single-handedly, “Your Kingdom will be engulfed by the shadows, and all your fires will extinguish”, he said.

She gritted his teeth.

“I’ll send you into oblivion”, he said in that creepy tone, smiling as she charged forwards towards him, filled with rage.

Peter prepared himself for her strike, having achieved his goal of enraging her. He didn’t fear her skills, and he didn’t fear her thunder either.

*

Hours after the battle had begun, the sun was almost sinking in the horizon. The night crept over the Valley from Dragon’s End, and Derek Hale found himself following the pull of blood. His helmet was discarded, his black hair damp from sweat and his eyes constantly flashing. His anger made him unable to control the shift as perfectly as he wanted, with his fangs protruding inside his mouth and his nails digging against the metal of his armor. He felt that it was a full moon that night, and soon the pale lady would shine fully over all of them, urging them to continue their bloodshed.

John and Chris had stopped fighting each other, being overrun by soldiers and having needed to move away from their positions. Rafael McCall lay on the ground unconscious, because too many Syn warriors had surrounded them and Derek had felt himself unable to finish off his fellow Northerner. He’d run away from them, towards the only Syn he actually wanted to end the life of, the one he needed to end. To avenge his mother and sister, to bring justice to the nightmare of a world he was living in.

Cora Hale was exhausted, and she was about to be defeated by Parrish, finally. Ewyn had needed to leave when Isaac had been severely wounded by Jackson, taking the fury of his sword, meant for Scott. Now the three of them were against Jackson, and when they’d almost gotten him, Lady Lydia Martin had arrived to the fight on her mare. Scott was unable to shift on will, yet, but his pain and bleeding, plus the full moon, were pushing him towards it.

Lydia stopped briefly by Parrish’s fight and with their combined magic Cora Hale was lying unconscious on the ground. Lydia looked down on her and moved on, considering her presence unimportant in favor of defending Jackson from a dire situation. Parrish was simply too tired, almost at the verge of fainting from exhaustion, to even try and kill Cora.

When Lydia and Ewyn’s gazes locked, Lydia felt her heart stutter. She knew those eyes, but couldn’t place them. She was taken from her reflections when they heard an ominous, loud howl that traveled through all the lands surrounding Aldor. It made every animal and bird escape their vicinity. Lydia’s magic died on her hands when her concentration was ruined, as she realized what it was.

*

Derek Hale found himself grumbling low at his uncle, several feet away. Peter was knelt by the side of Kate, who was being choked to death. Fear flooded her eyes, and her face flushed red as she tried to break away. Peter smiled back at him as he mouthed “Derek” and then focused on her. She coughed up as she caught her breath, but not for long because he kicked her chest and pressed it hard against the ground. He pointed his blade at her neck.

“Meet your fate”, he said with a smirk. Peter took the hilt with both hands, and prepared to plunge the metal into her armor and heart.

He saw the fear in her grey eyes and relished on it until he felt Derek’s loud roar, his features shifted. 

“I won’t forgive you for Laura…”, he growled.

Derek charged against him and pushed him aside, landing on top of him. He pressed Peter to the ground, tossing his blade aside. Peter flashed his eyes red and roared himself, pushing his nephew back with Alpha strength.

Then he felt it. From behind, piercing through his back, West Thunder discharged inside his body, and his healing potential decreased. Kate was there him, holding the hilt, pushing it inside his back with all her strength through the cracks of his armor.

Derek found his chance, blinded by fury, and maimed his bare neck with his claws, severing his carotid and making his uncle bleed to death there and then. Peter tried to utter words, but he could only cough and feel the blood gurgle up his throat. He suffocated. Derek stared in his eyes as the red faded, their gazes locked. He was taken aback by the last speck of humanity in his uncle, a sad stare, but soon his own vision was clouded.

Kate let out a sigh.

“Thank you”, she said, but her eyes widened again when she witnessed Derek’s transformation.

Instead of shifting back to human, Derek’s features morphed into something bigger, more lupine and monstrous, and his eyes flashed red. His fangs protruded long and sharp as he looked at Kate briefly. She felt fear but just swallowed and let out a sigh of relief when he moved past her, hurrying into the battle.

He howled, and Cora woke up. Before he got to her, he ran across Jackson nearby and tossed him aside, cutting through his skin and making him bleed more. Lydia stopped her fight with Ewyn to assist him immediately, but Derek simply kept running towards Cora before they could take in what was happening. Lydia gritted her teeth and clenched her fists. Ewyn, Isaac and Scott were dumbfounded. Scott felt the pull of the full moon again, but he just clenched his fists.

When Derek, now an Alpha, reached Cora, Parrish looked at him wide-eyed and took a step back. Cora was almost out of breath, but she managed to point at Erica and Boyd, her voice sad and exhausted. She mumbled, with watery eyes, “Their only chance…”

Scott let out a pained scream when Isaac fainted and fell to the ground, having lost too much blood. Scott stared into Derek’s eyes, flashing yellow in a silent plea.

Derek did what he’d thought about doing so many times, if only out of instinct because he couldn’t think clearly.

Derek gave them three another chance at life.

*

“Peter Hale is dead!”, the soldiers of both bands screamed, as the nobles realized in shock that the commander of the North was lying on the ground, lifeless. He still bled out from his maimed neck. Derek Hale had disappeared from sight, and Lydia was the one to go there, close to Kate Argent. She hurried to find Rafael McCall, and was both relieved and worried that two Syn soldiers were carrying him. He was unconscious.

“Blow the horn!”, she screamed at the top of her lungs, “We retreat!”.

Parrish nodded from the distance, warning Cora that it wasn’t over. Sir John soon met Parrish and everyone who had been under Peter’s command began retreating to their camp by Clearwaters.

Jackson was staring horrified, but Isaac was already exhausted and Scott too wounded. The son of McCall tried not to lose control of his shift to go after him. When he met Lydia again he looked frightened. He was limping, bleeding where Derek had hurt him.

Lydia looked at his wound briefly before she heard another strong howl. She found Derek, fully shifted into a big monstrous lycanthrope. His fangs were sharp and dripping spit as he advanced towards Jackson. Maybe he intended to finish what he started: to rip the false Syn to shreds, as they had begun calling him in the Saur camp. Lydia gritted her teeth as he raced towards them, looking for her chance.

When he caught up, Lydia didn’t lose a second. She blew her own purple wolfsbane-based powder at him through a spell, inducing hypnosis. She grabbed Jackson to pull him away from his bloodied claws. Derek’s movements became messier each second as his knees buckled, and he finally fainted, his eyes red. They were full of wrath as he looked at Lydia one last time.

Lydia ran to her mare, who’d come to her encounter, helping Jackson up. They rode away with the rest of the fleeing Syns. They heard the last Argent loyalists in battle announcing the King was on his way. They had maybe fared off better in the battle, with fewer casualties, but they’d certainly lose position now that Peter had gotten himself killed. Lydia bit her lip so hard it drew blood, frustrated.

Not far away, John and Parrish were regrouping to leave the battle too. John seemed worried with the news that the missing Argents were coming: Gerard, Victoria, and the Princess, Allyson. Furthermore, they were bringing along Scaled hosts from the Marshlands. The situation seemed critical. John was flooded with worry, but Sir Parrish’s look was determined, despite his exhaustion and dehydration. He spoke as they rode under a benighted sky.

“Have faith, Sir”, Parrish spoke, as calm as he managed, “Have faith in your son”, he added, “We will _not_ lose this war”, he said, gritting his teeth. He wasn’t able to help his fury against the Argents, and what Derek Hale had done to Jackson. His loyalty to Stuart was unwavering, and he trusted his plan, but Peter’s death had shaken him. However, he had to be strong now that the line of command in the Syn faction was uncertain.

He wished as strongly as John that Stuart would arrive on time; that they didn’t have to fight against the King himself and his Marshmen alone.

 

**Clearwaters, August 1018 AN**

The next morning, Gerard had already arrived in the Saur camp with his daughter-in-law and the Princess; but Derek Hale, the new Alpha, wasn’t there. He was being held prisoner by Lydia, alongside Erica and Boyd. He was exhausted, dizzy and dirty, only wearing his undergarments as he’d destroyed most of his clothes with the shift. Erica and Boyd were struggling to break apart from their chains, with newfound rage from the transformation and the wolf blood boiling deep inside them.

It was no use, because Lydia’s spell held them during the day. Dawn had already come, not long ago. They’d first awoken after the night they’d spent unconscious, when the Syns retreated and took them along.

Derek could make the sound of Lydia talking with Parrish.

“McCall’s in shock”, Parrish said, worried. Derek only saw him through a blur, “and Jackson is scared to death”, he added, in a lower tone.

“He could lose control any time, we can’t risk it”, she said troubled, and Parrish just nodded.

Lydia continued speaking, her hands on her hips. It was the first time Derek was seeing her in anything other than a dress, some common trousers which were much more comfortable and appropriate for running. Derek only managed to hear some words.

“McCall has to cheer up his people”, she said, smiling sarcastically, “the King is on our heels, Peter’s dead, and Stuart has commanded me to hold position in Clearwater no matter the cost”, she blurted out.

Parrish furrowed his brow.

“McCall is in no position to command”, he said, “It could end in disaster!”, he added, his voice lower. “Not even John is optimistic anymore…”.

Parrish continued, “there are just so many corpses in the Riverlands”, he said, running his hands through his hair in despair, “how long do you think it will matter to the Northerners that a few more are Saur corpses? Loyalty isn’t unconditional, and I’m not sure Stuart realizes”, he concluded. He was agitated, but Lydia tried to remain calm.

She looked at him icily, as Parrish sank his gaze in her violet eyes.

“No matter the cost”, she repeated.

 

**Riverlands, August 1018 AN**

King Gerard I Argent was inside the commanding tent in the loyalist camp, sipping from Rocky Wine which Scott had just filled for him. He and Isaac were there, but they were just leaving to meet with Cora. The tent’s canvas was open to see the verdant fields, filled with the corpses of the fallen warriors. Past Aldor, the river Clearwaters, flowed ominous with the shadow of the Syn camp and the remaining thousands of warriors that had retreated. They outnumbered the Syns now that Gerard had brought Kate’s men from the Marshes. He forged a new strategy, one that would have Kate lead the Marshmen. He himself would lead the loyalist Vallese troops, which had already fought in the name of his King, displacing Chris from the front lines. Chris had been reluctant, but he hadn’t argued with his father.

Allyson, who entered the tent after Scott had left, had been given her own armor. Along her sword she carried a long bow and a quiver full of silver arrows to finally put her skills to use. She’d fire one against every Syn she came across, and her only regret was not having been there to shoot Peter Hale herself. Her Scaled armor was greener than the usual Saur one, at least than the ones they had in Sylune, and a bit darker.

Gerard had it made especially for this fight, in which she’d become a true Argent woman, according to his words.

She barely had time to greet her father before they were in the tent arguing the strategy for the imminent attack. They wanted to corner the remaining Syns and give them the coup de grace. Before she had any time to go see Isaac or Scott by herself, she saw her mother nodding at something Kate had told her in the ear. In a similarly hushed fashion, she whispered something to the guards, her Red Orb in her hand. Before she knew they were walking out.

She didn’t know where they were going until she entered a tent where Isaac was talking to Cora, Scott, and someone who could only be the famous Second Ewyn. Her eyes stared at the young woman’s beautiful pendant, a six-pointed star, as she heard guards moving forward and her mother’s voice.

“Seize the Syns”, Victoria spoke, coldly and upset. She pointed at Cora and Scott.

Ewyn took a step back, horrorized and not fully understanding what was happening. Scott looked at Allyson, wanting to say something but the words died on his mouth at the surprise.

Allyson looked at her mother for an explanation. She just tilted her head slowly, looking intensely at her daughter.

“They are monsters, they have the curse of the North”, she said, “They have to be put down before they become as crazy as Peter Hale, and fight for the Lord of Darkness again”

Allyson felt her heart clench, and she looked at Isaac.

“Ally, I’ve always fought for your grandfather!”, he said desperate. Kate, who was behind Victoria, took a step forward and put a hand over her shoulder.

“That one too”, she said, with a smirk, and Allyson froze.

“He was also scratched by Derek, after the fucking Hale tried to kill me. That’s the only reason he’s standing on his feet!”, she said.

“Mother?”, Allyson asked, anxious.

“They’re not real Saurs, not even him anymore”, she said, pointing at Isaac, “Isaac has befriended the McCall bastard too much for us to trust him”, she added. Allyson’s stomach dropped as she saw the horror and disappointment in Scott’s face. They were dragged away and put in chains. Kate helped the soldiers hold them down with her thunder.

She looked back one last time, wide-eyed, and she stared into Isaac’s eyes.

“We’re innocent!”, he said, and it kept echoing in her head after they’d been taken. She was left alone with her mother in the tent. 

Victoria looked at Allyson, not betraying any emotion, and she placed a hand on her pauldron. The Marsh woman was wearing a red dress, to match with her hair, lip cosmetic and the orb she was still carrying. She said it was an amulet to bring the favor of the Fire Spirits in the war; an old Scaled tradition from Erin Tornys, where she’d been born.

“Find the resolve to fight this war”, she added, staring at her daughter. She cupped her cheek, “Only those free of doubt will survive”, she added, “and our time is running out from this day”, she concluded.

Allyson thought about her grandfather’s words. She silently whispered, still distraught. “For the family…”

“For our family”, her mother replied, and left her to her thoughts.

*

Ewyn was left shaking; feeling uneasy upon the sight of Allyson’s cold-bloodedness after the Argents had left. She felt like everyone was in the wrong, like everything was spiraling out of control. Like she hadn’t had enough time to make up with Derek, too scared to approach him; and now he was Stuart’s prisoner, meaning she may never see him again – all was on her. It left her with the feeling of standing before an abyss. She pondered the last words Scott had told her and Isaac before they were arrested.

_Gerard would do anything for power. He has a plan._

Did Scott already know he’d be arrested?  

She calmed herself, breathing deeply, not to have a panic attack. She needed to handle one problem at time. And first, she needed to set them free.


	7. Hordes of Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuart finally shows up and unleashes his full power against the loyalists. Ewyn's spell is broken, and everything takes a darker turn as the Argents grow desperate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter is here!

**Riverlands, August 1018 AN**

In what was certain to be the final battle, the Syns were demoralized and prepared for the worse; and the King of Darkness still absent. Lydia and Rafael were mounted on their horses in the front line, looking at the horizon . The Argents were already approaching down the hills behind Aldor, in the distance. In the vanguard was Kate Argent, and well behind her bannermen that could only be close to the monarch himself, Gerard Argent. What Lydia didn’t know was that Cora, Isaac and Scott were being held prisoners because of lycanthropy and alleged treason, under Victoria and possibly Gerard’s direct orders. Much like Derek, Erica and Boyd were being held prisoner in their own camp.

Lydia took a deep breath, the morning wind against her dark hair. She was worrying her lip and mumbling to herself what Stuart wanted her to do. With only her own mind to respond, she concluded the sensible thing.

“Command”, she said, and Rafael turned around to look at her. He looked confused.

“You want to save your son, your people, the North”, she said, stern, looking at him sideways. “Command”, she repeated, “Peter is dead, but you’re not. Show them what a true leader of the North is like”, she added.

In the distance, the Argent horn echoed. The swarms of Saur men from the Valley and the Marshlands charged, in search of virtuous retribution to their King’s justice. There were both cavalry and foot soldiers.

“True warriors of the North”, Rafael said lowly, repeating as if to convince himself. Both shared a brief look, and Lydia nodded silently as Rafael tightened the grip on his reins and commanded his stallion forward.

“FOR THE NORTH!”, he screamed, with renewed energy, as the remaining few thousand warriors behind him echoed his war cry. They rushed into the battlefield to meet the Crown loyalists. Lydia let out a deep sigh, and after a few seconds commanded her own mare to ride forward with a slower pace.

*

Once again, in this third battle precipitated by the Kings, the Northerners and Jackson’s allies battled against Gerard’s loyalists. Their leader was dead, and their hopes were waning, but the battlefield was already soaked with the blood of some of their companions, and they had many people to avenge from the second battle.

Jackson found himself brave enough to avenge his father’s death against the King, especially after Lydia’s pep talk after their vanguard had charged. The heat of the battle found him dueling with Kate Argent, an opponent he knew would be hard to beat. He didn’t rise to her threats anymore, to her sly smirk as she insulted him, his fathers and the North.

“It’s sad, really”, she spoke loudly, as she swung her sword in the air, the lightning making the air feel oppressive, “you followed the Martin bitch to the darkness even after she ignored your advances for years”, she added, “you could have had it all if you’d followed the King’s plans…”, she added, bitterly.

Jackson scowled. “You wouldn’t understand”, he said, as she turned her face to look at the distance. The open expanse of green grass and soil led to Dawn Fields, away from the many corpses in the battlefield. Lydia was riding on her mare to the top of a hill, alone, and away from the heat of the fight. Kate saw her get off the horse, and Jackson looked too, distracted, for a brief second. He was about to attack when he realized what she was seeing.

In the distance, the ominous clouds that had been hovering over Dragon’s End in the horizon seemed to advance impossibly quickly. The sky darkened with them, creating an eerie atmosphere that every single warrior noticed as a chill in their bones. The sounds of the world seemed to come to a stop, every bird nearby fleeing the skies above them, as it became fully shrouded by light grey clouds and darker shades.

Jackson looked at Kate in confusion, not realizing what it meant yet. Her eyes were wide in shock and her mouth agape.

A single cloaked rider was approaching from Dawn Fields on a spectral horse that everyone could identify as Invincible, the skeletal stallion. He neighed loud to break the silence in the battlefield. The warriors stopped fighting as it raced fast as thunder towards them, time frozen. It passed the hillside where Lydia was as a single ray of lightning struck down, really close to where she’s settled. She was standing on her feet, her gaze over the battlefield. It was full of corpses and confused, terrorized warriors from both sides.

King Gerard himself was riding towards where Kate was, and he ignored Jackson as he stopped and got off his horse by her side. He didn’t stop looking at the figure riding Invincible. They were close to the hill, and the intruder grabbed his reins with black metal fists to steer the horse and ride in their direction. Gerard swallowed hard and stopped his horse from moving a single hoof any farther.

Kate herself assumed a defensive stance, not facing Jackson anymore. Jackson looked at Lydia in the distance, and she seemed to be preparing herself to cast a spell, her own cloak discarded to reveal she was wearing a black ritual Nyctian dress. The pieces began to fall together in his mind as Invincible slowed down and eventually stopped in front of them.

The rider got off the horse, which looked straight into the King’s stallion and made him neigh, unsettled, as Gerard tried to soothe it. He removed his cloak, and the loyalist soldier’s blood ran cold.

King Stuart Stilinski showed his face to the man that had his family killed, for the first time in five years. There was no rage, sadness, shame, hope, defiance or hesitation. There was simply an unwavering, deep stare of determination. His purple eyes pierced Gerard’s soul and sent shivers down his spine.

Kate was unsettled too, taking a single step back to brace herself for the confrontation. Stuart’s armor was unique. It was one of the legendary Nyctian death knight armors, of a material darker than the night. It was so dark that it didn’t shine; the pieces over his body just pitch black except for the occasional silver carving. His helmet was shaped in the form of a dragon skull, and he took it off, discarding it to the ground violently. His shoulder plates were decorated with small skulls, as well, a reminder of the omnipresent Death for the Nyctians.

Stuart unsheathed Soul Reaver, wielding it with both hands before pointing it directly at the King.

“Your day has come”, he said firmly, as intensely as his gaze.

*

A long howl had Matt fleeing from the Saur base, towards the battle, where he didn’t know what had been going on. He just knew something big had happened, because all the magical shackles and spells had been rendered ineffective, and a storm was brewing in what had been a mostly blue morning sky.

He ran clumsily in his armor towards his Lady, Kate, to warn her that the prisoners – the lycanthropes – had escaped. Isaac, Scott and Cora Hale had broken free, and Ewyn was with them. He would tell Kate about the betrayal from the Holy Mage too. He had never liked her, any of them indeed, especially Isaac since he’d gotten more confident and intimate with Princess Allyson.

He was surprised by a second howl from the other side of the camp, a howl so loud and fierce that could only belong to an alpha. Derek Hale must have been freed in a similar manner, and now he really had to hurry to tell his Lady and find out what was going on in the battlefield.

He sped up, in fear any of the beasts would catch up to him.

*

Ewyn met Cora, Isaac, and Scott right outside the camp. They looked at the darkening sky in the distance and at the other end of the extent of land, where the banks of Clearwaters were. In the middle, the battle was frozen where it had been heated up before, and their blood ran cold too when they saw the lone rider in the dark armor approaching.

Ewyn looked at them, wide-eyed. “What’s going on? I was going to help you escape earlier; but Kate’s guards were right behind me all the time”, she added, looking behind her with apprehension, “I saw Matt running away”

Cora looked at her intensely. “Someone really powerful has arrived; the magic spell on our shackles has been suspended. Someone the Argents fear…”, she added, raising her eyebrows. Isaac winced.

“The Dark Prince is here…”, Ewyn said low, with horror at the realization.

Scott nodded, squeezing her shoulder. She looked up at him.

“We must go, then”, she said, and then looked at Cora. She nodded.

“My brother must have been freed too”, she reasoned, “Which means Lydia is probably focusing her energy somewhere else”. Isaac looked at her, raising an eyebrow.

She turned her head to meet his scared eyes. “I have a bad feeling about this”, she added, her voice shaking, for the time not as sure as she usually was. Ewyn and Scott looked at each other too, swallowing loudly.

“Let’s go help your brother”, Scott said, and the four of them set off towards the field of corpses and mysteriously frightened soldiers. The very air was stale, not a single gust of wind moving. A single strike of lightning was seen in the distance, and they realized where Lydia Martin was.

*

Matt kept running desperate, pushing his fellow Saur warriors aside until he arrived where the King and Marsh Lady’s bannermen were. He saw Kate and didn’t look anywhere else, not realizing who she was standing before. She took a step back, grabbing him by the shoulders. She pressed her arms nervously against his back to motion him forward, as she turned to leave.

“Hold ground”, she said, distracted, “The King and I must find Victoria Argent and someone else”, she continued, biting her lip, as she got on Gerard’s horse. In the blink of an eye they were gone, riding off into the distance and breaking the deafening silence.

Matt swallowed loudly and turned to look, realizing where Stuart Stilinski was standing with an evil grin. Several feet away was a pale Jackson Whittemore, and that very moment he knew his fate. Stuart took a step forward, slowly. The tension increased among the few soldiers that were expectant as of what would happen. Matt took one step back, not able to unsheathe his sword with a trembling hand, but raising an arm against his chest defensively.

“Y- Your Highness, I…”, he tried to say, but before he knew Stuart was in his personal space. Soul Reaver had pierced his armor, his chest; and it was tearing his spirit away. He felt pain like he had never before, but his own screams were drowned in Stuart’s hysteric chuckles. Blood started dripping down the blade, into the ground, and he looked at the drops soaking the soil horrified as Stuart pushed him away from the blade. Matt took a few steps backwards, his knees buckling, bleeding. He brought his hands to his wound, pressing in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding.

Stuart stared him down briefly, contented, and then stabbed the ground with his sword. “I guess your blood is as good a catalyst as any”, he said, turning to look at Jackson, who himself took a step backwards.

Stuart smiled at him, “Don’t worry, we’re on the same side”, he added, humorously, turning to look at Matt and then ignoring him in his agony altogether to stare at the horizon. He raised his voice, speaking to every soldier in his proximity, mostly Saur ones belonging to the Marshlands.

“BEHOLD, LET EVERYONE SEE WHAT HAPPENS TO THOSE TO DEFY DEATH”, he screamed, “THOSE WHO DEFY ME”, he added, pointing towards Matt, who’d begun coughing up more blood.

“RISE!”, he said, cryptically, as he began casting a spell. Jackson looked at the distance and saw Lydia channeling a spell as well, her black dress lighting up in the faint, violet glow that usually accompanied necromantic spells.

But it wasn’t only her. The sky seemed to darken impossibly more, as if night had come, and the very ground began shattering in places where the warriors were standing, causing them to panic and try to move away from the unstable pieces of land. The silence disappeared in favor of terrorized screams, accusations, curses and prayers to the Light when the very same violet glow started to emanate from the cracks.

Jackson himself knelt down to avoid falling when the earth began to shake, as if a small earthquake were taking place. He looked at Stuart, but Stuart’s eyes were expressionless and he was completely focused.

Invincible neighed loudly, over the screams of all the soldiers. Matt died when a terrible pain overtook his whole body and his eyes went blank. The spell began to complete, and Lydia raised her hands in the air to maintain the amount of energy needed.

Far from them, Ewyn and Scott stopped on their feet and looked at each other. They stared wide-eyed as the thousands of corpses in the battlefield began glowing and then rose, moving erratically. The stench of undeath filled the air, still stale; and the tense atmosphere broke into open horror as every warrior tried to flee, no matter who they were fighting for.

Lydia took a deep breath and opened her eyes, looking as the battlefield became a field of magical resurrection. She concentrated more and the spell became stronger, turning the dead corpses into her weapon and Stuart’s. The carcasses of once brave warriors, no matter their origin, began moving faster and attacking the Crown loyalists, who started to retreat. Some used their swords, but they were relentless and ruthless. Like mindless beasts, they didn’t care if their limbs were missing as long as they destroyed their target. Some attacked in groups, surrounding unlucky warriors and tearing them apart, biting and gnawing at the flesh or sticking the pointy end of a blade in their tender spots.

And every time a new Saur died, they joined Stuart’s ranks.

Kate looked behind briefly, in Gerard’s stallion, gritting her teeth in fury and impotence.

*

Cora shifted and ran, flashing her eyes yellow when she saw the King and his daughter fleeing in the opposite direction, but still determined to pursue and destroy the Dark Prince. She gritted her teeth and continued her swift running through the horrorized soldiers, avoiding the areas where the corpses were being resurrected en masse. She let the rage cloud her fear and common sense as she followed the pull towards Stuart.

When she first saw him, he had his hands raised in the air and lines of dark energy were flowing from them towards his sword. Matt’s corpse was nearby, devoid of all color and possibly exsanguinated. Jackson stood there, and he turned to face her, gritting his teeth and staring down at her, flashing yellow too in response.

She growled, and Jackson took a step back, intimidated. He looked back at Stuart. The young man first realized she was there, in the trance of his spell. He looked briefly back at Lydia, in the distance, and then stared down at her, smiling smugly in the midst of the intensity of the screams and the atmosphere of death. She felt a new surge of adrenalin, filling her with power and rage. She was about to charge against him when he raised a single finger and swung it through the air to point at Jackson. One of the lines of magical energy changed its direction to hit him, infusing him with energy and triggering his full transformation.

“I… still… can’t…”, Jackson tried to say, as Stuart’s expression hardened. He looked at Jackson, opening his palm and closing it as if crushing the air.

“You will fight as you must”, he said, “to avenge the father these false Hales killed”, he spat out, angry.

Stuart looked at Cora, his violet eyes piercing her own. “It was never part of my plan that Peter was killed”, he continued, still intensely.

Cora felt so much rage that her eyes became watery. “Was Laura?”, She screamed, “Was my mother?”, she continued, “Your own mother, you sick fucker?”, she screamed, as Stuart gritted his teeth and opened the palm of his hand again, extending his arm.

Jackson let out a howl as he fully shifted, lunging forward towards Cora and using his claws instead of his sword, which was discarded on the ground. His own helmet was also lying in the dirt, and the rest of his upper armor was about to break from the pressure. He jumped over her and tried to attack and wound her violently, but Cora was able to hold back her wolf enough to unsheathe her sword.

Jackson’s snout opened above her hair and both flashed their eyes, his spit falling on her face. She recited a single word in the Old Tongue, and her sword shone strong blue. She cast a single explosive spell that send shards of ice everywhere and had Jackson fly several feet away in the air, falling and turning back to his human form in the process. His armor was damaged and his boots and gauntlets destroyed. He was unconscious, but his heart still beat.

Stuart stood in between her and Jackson’s body, looking at her defiantly. She stood up, wiping the spit and dirt away from her human face, reining in her wolf so that she would stay covered by the plate. Her chest was heaving and she looked at him disdainfully.

“Maybe you wouldn’t have been such a bad Queen after all”, Stuart said, picking up Soul Reaver and smirking at her.

Cora bit her lip so hard she almost drew blood. She clutched the hilt of Ragnar’s Tear with such a grip thought the blade could shatter. But she was determined to shatter him instead.

“You’re going to pay for what you’ve done to us”, she added, “And for using my uncle, too”, she continued.

“You’ve done _everything_ to yourselves”, Stuart spat out, coldly but getting riled up soon, “You’ve become murderers for the people that killed your family”, he added, “but I don’t care what anybody thinks”, he provided in an afterthought, looking briefly at Lydia in the distance.

He then set his gaze back on Cora. “I will take my mother’s Kingdom with my own blood, to destroy the Argents and slay Belerion himself”.

“I’ll destroy you first”, she replied, slowly, her stare intense. She flashed her eyes one more time before he laughed, openly, and then she charged against him.

When their blades clashed, Cora’s one glowing against Stuart’s metal, another lightning hit the ground close to where Jackson was lying. He was still unconscious, his ear dripping blood over the dirt.

In the distance, Lydia gritted her teeth too, noticing his state.

*

Scott and Ewyn were running together towards the heat of the battle, and a bit behind was Isaac. He saw his two friends stop abruptly, only to realize some seconds later what was going on. Isaac remembered the prophecy that the world was to be consumed in darkness and fire if Syns and Saurs kept warring. The familiar shiver that came every time he thought of Stuart ran through his spine again. Only he could be behind a spell of such magnitude.

The sky was darker each second, and it didn’t seem safe to venture any further into the battlefield. He took a last slow step to fall in line with Ewyn and look into the distance. He was about to say something to Scott when they heard a grave neigh approaching them from one of their sides.

“You escaped”, a furious voice said, slowly.

The three of them turned their heads to look at Victoria Argent, riding a mare and wearing a red dress, carrying a tiara over her head with a ruby in the middle to match her clothes. With one hand she held the reins, but in the other she held the Red Orb. Ewyn saw it and felt a knot in her stomach, as if the object had come from her deeper nightmares.

She frowned, talking before Victoria could. “You had no right to arrest him. Have you all lost your minds?”, she blurted out, outraged, “We’re fighting for the same side!”

Her eyes were injected in blood from the young woman’s insolence.

“Silence, you zealous lowborn”, she said, “Everyone with Syn blood must be purified”, she rambled, “everyone with Syn blood like the Hales or you bastards; I won’t give you a chance to sprout betrayal”, she sentenced, pointing the Red Orb at Scott.

Scott took a step forward, defiant. “If we don’t stick together Stuart will take over, haven’t you seen? Is your hate so strong you’d rather die than join forces?”, he continued, “Your daughter would do the right thing!”

Isaac swallowed loudly, looking briefly at Scott and nodding. He was surprised by Victoria’s nervous chuckle, as she got off her mare.

“You may be McCall’s bastard”, she said, “but you’re still a lowborn, too. Don’t you mention my daughter’s name with your filthy mouth”, she said, “You think I’m an idiot?”, she asked, getting closer to them as Ewyn raised her eyebrows, confused.

“I knew you were sweet on her since I first saw you. And I knew my daughter was stupid enough to like you since Kate told me”, she continued.

Scott gaped, clenching his fist. “She swore to Allyson!” he said, indignant.

Victoria laughed acridly again. “You’re just children playing at games over your capacities”, she stated simply, “but she won’t stray after you’re gone”, she added, in a low, menacing tone.

She pointed the orb right at him again and shook it for it to glow. Ewyn’s eyes widened as Victoria was about to cast her spell, and realized it was probably too late to stand between Scott and her.

The three of them closed their eyes, braced for the worst.

Isaac opened them cautiously when he heard a low growl, and suddenly a werewolf silhouette appeared before them, reaching Victoria. It sent the Red Orb flying away in the blink of an eye.

Victoria groaned and took two steps back; looking at the bleeding claw marks in her arm and one that had ragged the side of her dress. The red silk soaked with the darker red of her own blood. She struggled to keep her balance and finally raised her eyes to meet the beast’s gaze.

“Derek Hale”, she said angrily, gritting her teeth.

Derek turned back to his human form, standing between the three younger ones and the mother of the Princess. He was still breathing heavily, his skin sweaty and smeared with dirt especially in his arms and chest. He had no armor on except for the part over his hips, over his undergarments, and the bracelets and ankle armor. The rest they had taken when they’d had him prisoner, and lost in the shifting.

Ewyn was mesmerized by the triskelion tattoo on his back, one she’d seen before in the West. She stopped looking when Derek turned briefly to stare at them, looking apologetical for an instant. She swallowed, nodding before Derek faced the mad Argent again.

Scott looked at Ewyn briefly, sharing a weak smile.

Derek spoke, his voice rough. “Scott is right we should fight together”, he said, “My parents were noble people; we are Syns warriors, not killers!”, he said, trying to reach her, “but if you turn against us, I won’t hesitate”, he added.

Victoria put a hand over her wound, tilting her head proudly and looking at him as if he was an insect. Her hand clenched. “I’d rather die than see the Kingdom in the hands of wild beasts”, she said coldly.

Isaac took a step forward. “It’s useless, Derek!”, he screamed, “they tried to seize Cora too!”, he spat out.

Derek looked behind and then turned to face Victoria, staring her down and growling angrily, his eyes flashing red. She gritted her teeth and tried to run towards the Orb, but she tripped when she saw him running towards her and his fangs protruded.

Derek couldn’t get to her, though, because a single stallion with two riders rode between them, stopping besides Victoria and the orb. She was crawling towards it pathetically, her wound still bleeding. The two riders that got off the horse were no other than Kate Argent and King Gerard, who stared disdainful and with contempt at the Syn warrior and the others.

Derek looked up at Kate, who was staring at his red eyes with a smirk. She moved around, and then knelt to pick the Red Orb, playing with it between her hands but not breaking eye contact for a second. Gerard knelt down to help Victoria, slowly because his armor was heaving.

“What happened?”, he demanded, but Victoria only managed to cough up blood at the ground as she brought her bloodied hand up to her cheek, smearing it all over and looking horrified.

“I can… I can feel it”, she said, voice trembling.

Kate frowned at Derek, quickly taking a step back to kneel besides Victoria too. She touched the side of her wound, where the exposed flesh was now completely healed, with only dried blood over it. She looked at Victoria, her lips a line and her expression serious, and then up to her father, expectant. Gerard looked at Kate and nodded.

Victoria managed to speak, putting a hand on the King’s shoulder. “I’ll do as I must”, she managed to say, with some blood still in her mouth. “I’ll die as a Saur rather than living as a monster”, she explained, her voice weak.

Kate took her wrist, and Victoria rolled over slowly to lie on her back and took her hand off Gerard. She picked a golden dagger from the waist of her dress. She looked up at the darkened sky.

Derek was staring at the scene, and Kate frequently stole glances from him with an expression of pure hatred and enmity. Then a loud thunder was heard from the middle of the fight, and a blue glow came from the distance indicated his sister’s blade. He furrowed his brow, trying to hear and feel where she was. He looked back at Scott and nodded.

“Cora needs me”, he said, serious, as he turned to shift and run away.

He looked at the Argents. Victoria was already holding the dagger close to her heart, and Kate let go of her wrist so that she could take the hilt with both her hands. She pressed the tip to the thin fabric of her dress. 

“This isn’t over”, Derek grumbled. The King looked at him, gritting his teeth, in clear agreement.

Victoria plunged the metal deep inside her heart, as deeply as she could until it stopped and her arms went limp, falling to the ground. She bled from the hole in her chest where the dagger was still impaled. Kate bit her lips and Gerard looked at Derek in the distance.

“You will die for this, like you should have long ago!”, he screamed, furious, as he took the dagger out and sheathed it in his own armor belt.

Ewyn looked horrified as Kate stood up, looking at her briefly but staring right back into the battlefield, also towards Derek’s path. She raised the orb to her chest and took a deep breath. A grin appeared on her face.

“We’ll be the spark to light the way through this darkness”, she said cryptic. Gerard stood up too, coughing.

“It is up to you now”, Gerard said, and his daughter nodded determined.

Isaac turned to face Scott, placing a hand on Ewyn’s shoulder to move forwards without falling. “We have to find your father”, they said.

Ewyn and Scott both nodded, and they left towards the battle before the Argents realized they were gone, still distraught by Victoria’s corpse, which lay there lifelessly. Her eyes were vacant, mouth agape with a thread of blood down her cheek. Her life, absent.

*

Lydia was so focused she’d shut her eyes and blocked every noise from the battle, feeling only the concentric winds that blew around the hill, a byproduct of her own spell. They lifted her dark, long hair gently. But she didn’t miss the step of a metal boot in the dirt, close to the edge. Especially because that step had been taken by someone who wanted their presence known. She opened her eyes suddenly, turning to face the intruder and letting her arms down. Her pale skin was a beautiful contrast with the fabric of her sleeveless dress.

It was Allyson Argent, her former best friend. She stood radiant in her polished Argent armor, in the Saur fashion, sword still sheathed because she hadn’t used it yet. On her back was a quiver, and she was holding a bow with her right hand. Allyson raised her chin proudly.

Lydia’s hair settled down, slowly, as a strong gust of wind lifted Allyson’s and she felt a shiver. They stared into each other for a long time; taking their new appearances in, struggling to recognize the friends they’d left behind years ago. The girls they were back in Sylune, under Queen Claudia, were gone. Allyson broke the silence, speaking loudly with a fake smile.

“Much as I try to, I don’t find my best friend in those dark eyes”, she said, “or in all this death you want to bring upon my family and our home”, she added, trying for her voice not to break, filled with emotion.

Lydia remained cold. “I’m the same I was, I’m loyal to my heart and the truth”, she explained as proudly, “We’ve become one with the Night. Because, if I don’t, the ambitions of your family will turn this Kingdom you love so much into ashes”, she continued, her voice turning drier, “and nothing else”, she added roughly, her look intense.

Allyson bit her lip. “You… you’d give up your life for this? Jackson’s, even? Playing with his feelings?”, she asked, on the verge of tears.

Lydia tried to remain impassive, but anger flooded her heart and she raised her hand, pointing at her in accusation. “Don’t you dare speak to me about feelings!”, she blurted out.

Allyson took a step back, surprised, but then her face hardened and she took two forward, staring at Lydia sternly.

“You’re a fool to love him”, she spat out, scornful. Lydia’s rage lit up again.

“And you’re a fool to ignore your own heart!”, Lydia said, “Look at you!”, she added, furious, “All your passion and strength, a true Saur warrior, all that training and suffering to be manipulated by your grandfather! To do the bidding of a murderer!”, she yelled, sending Allyson into a shock.

Allyson was about to speak, but Lydia screamed again. “You want to be strong, but you’re a coward who can’t face her own heart!”, she added, “Your own family would have had Scott killed since the first day they met him, and all you want to care about is duty. The truth is right in front of you and you refuse to face it! You’re better than this!”, Lydia concluded, causing Allyson to burst with anger as well.

“Enough!”, she screamed, taking an arrow from her quiver and loading it, tensing the string as she pointed at Lydia. She closed one eye to aim better. Allyson took a deep breath to rein back her anger and focus. She spoke softly, with a calm voice. “I love you, Lydia”, she said, “This is why I’ll defeat you and kill Stuart, no matter what it takes, so you can be free”, she added, almost a whisper, as she let go of the arrow.

Lydia opened her eyes wide, and the silver arrow Allyson had shot broke in two pieces when it hit her invisible shield at a tremendous speed. The part of the shield lit up with an opaque white light, and when it faded, Allyson could see Lydia’s unwavering gaze.

She was as determined as Allyson herself was to win this war, and she knew. She heard another thunder in the distance, and both women looked at the battlefield. Cora was still fighting Stuart spectacularly, but Jackson’s body was gone. In his place, Sir Parrish had just made an appearance, releasing a blast of fire to send Saur soldiers away from his King.

*

Derek Hale was already in his shifted form when he stopped to take in the scene. In the distance was the man that had killed his family and turned his once-loved uncle against him, Stuart Stilinski. He felt a shiver at the blackness of his armor, moving around with him as he fought elegantly against his sister Cora. His movements seemed to take the life away from the place where he was standing, the sky still darkening. The Icy Wolf was wielding her frost blade and trying to freeze him but couldn’t leave a single dent on the metal. She seemed exhausted, and yet was challenging him every time she charged against his fearsome blade.

He howled in rage, flashing his eyes red, but his sight was blocked by a wall of fire that rose high into the sky. The yellow and orange flickering of the flames reached the dark sky, lighting the battlefield. It was filled with destroyed corpses and metal scraps and it made it seem more like hell. He opened his mouth, showing his fangs to the figure that came from the flames. It was Sir Parrish, the right hand of the King of Darkness.

Parrish looked straight into the alpha’s red eyes with his and flashed orange, menacing. He was holding the Scorcher with a single hand. The blade was surrounded by small rings of flame that dissipated when he took a few steps forward. He took the hilt with both hands, a firm grip ready to swing the blade and sear flesh at will.

“You’ll have to go through me first”, Parrish rasped, gritting his teeth.

“So be it”, Derek grumbled ominously, from the back of his throat. He raised a paw in the air, ready to pounce with sharp claws.

Both were taken by surprise when a flask was hurled in Parrish’s direction. He managed to raise his hand quickly and it broke in a lot of small pieces against his dragon shield, forcing Parrish to close his eyes. A small blast of fire surrounded him, but the shield kept it away from his body. When he opened his eyes, Boyd and Erica were hurrying to catch up with Derek. Both were still human, but their eyes flashed.

Erica was smirking, cheerful. “Forgot us?”, she said, and she began to shift into her wolf form, letting the pull and aura of her alpha engulf her. Boyd did the same, his nails digging against the soil. They bared their teeth menacingly at Parrish. The man eyed them briefly with his beautiful green eyes, and shut his jaw tensely.

“We’ll stand for our Alpha”, Boyd said, decided, and then let out a growl. Both he and Erica charged against Parrish.

Derek shut his mouth, and then surged forward to help his pack.

*

Stuart was pressing his foot to Cora’s chest, where she lay on the dark, cold ground. He was crushing her breasts under her armor, smiling sadistically as she screamed in agony. Her jaw clenched and her eyes flashed yellow with anger. He pointed his blade to her neck and then the middle of her forehead, letting out a deep laugh as the blade hovered over her.

He licked his upper lip quickly, staring at her with vivid eyes. “So much for the strength of the Northerners”, he said with a low voice, his expression suddenly darker.

She let out a frustrated groan as she struggled fruitlessly to break free, but then they heard an explosion and Stuart was distraught by what he saw. Next she knew, Cora felt the pressure over her chest lifted and she rolled over, coughing blood and spit all over the ground. She tried to breathe with pained noises. Her human nails dug deep into the soil, and she turned her head and tilted it a bit to see what was going on. She could see Stuart standing with his blade pointed at Derek, and Parrish kneeling by his side with a hand on his shoulder, looking distressed.

She heard another explosion and felt the aftershock send a gust of wind her way. It made her body roll over a few times in the ground, and then everything went black.

*

Lydia was doing her best to keep Allyson away, but she kept shooting arrows relentlessly and with unfaltering energy and aim. Allyson was trying to exhaust her defensive powers to death if nothing else. Lydia gritted her teeth, exasperated, knowing that she had to keep focus for such a great-scale spell and that she couldn’t fail Stuart, who was fighting Cora down there. She thought she may have to defeat Allyson and then attempt to focus again. Otherwise she may as well miss one of her arrows and it’d be over.

Lydia would never surrender. She began casting a fire between her hands discreetly to weaken Allyson if she had to engage, after all. She waited patiently, expectant and following the Scaled woman’s movements. Allyson tensed, frowning hard as she loaded another flawless silver arrow. “I’m not going to give up!”, she screamed furiously, ready to shoot when she heard a growl behind her.

Lydia’s eyes widened as she stopped casting the fire spell abruptly, and Allyson turned around to face the intruder in Syn armor. It was Jackson Whittemore, his former betrothed, dragging his blade across the grass and looking worriedly at Lydia. His armor was worn-out and smeared with dirt and blood. His cheeks had small cuts from where he’d been struck by Cora’s frozen shards. He looked weary, but he managed stood, baring his neck. His eyes had a blue shine to them amidst the dark.

“I’ll deal with this!”, he screamed, sure of himself, and then turned to look at Allyson. “You keep doing what you must”, he added with a rough voice, in a much lower tone.

Lydia simply nodded, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes as she put her focus back in the spell.

Allyson let out a deep breath too, throwing her bow to the grass and unsheathing her sword. She took the hilt and wielded it against Jackson defiantly. He didn’t hesitate to charge against her, and soon they fell into a steady rhythm with the clashing of metal. They were in constant motion to avoid being hit by the blades. Allyson was fresher, and so she managed to land a blow against his side, making him hiss. He managed to stay on his feet, though, and soon he grimaced and charged back against her.

In the distance, Lydia opened her eyes again to search for Stuart. He was standing by Parrish, who was kneeling on his side. Before them stood Derek Hale and his two newly-turned mercenaries. Farther, approaching them, two horses came with three riders, and she thought she could see Kate Argent. She was holding the Red Orb and clutching it close to her chest plate. Her heart clenched, and she swallowed loudly, closing her eyes.

“Belerion…” 

*

Isaac and Scott finally found Rafael, fighting against Chris Argent. John arrived in his horse, getting off quickly, his eyes glazed and his stare lost. Ewyn was right behind them and soon fell in line, looking at John. She bit her lip, eyeing Scott.

“Victoria Argent is dead!”, she screamed, and Chris’s eyes widened in horror as their battle came to a stop for a second. John took a step back, getting away from her. She tried to regain composure, for her voice not to falter. “She tried to kill Scott!”, she continued.

“What?”, Chris and Rafael said at the same time, their voices weak and exhausted.

“There’s no time to mourn now!”, she said, her voice almost breaking, pointing at the distance where Stuart had just defeated Cora Hale. The soldiers had run away from them, and it was visible not far away. Stuart had taken her to the ground, and was now pressing his foot to her chest and pointing Soul Reaver at her head.

“We need to join forces against this darkness, or we will all die!”, she said, “Rafael, do it for your son!”, she pleaded, as Chris looked in horror at the figure of Stuart, distraught by his commotion. Rafael let his blade down, not able to say anything, but looking hesitant at his son.

John looked conflicted, but he was taken from his thoughts when he finally saw King Gerard returning to the battle in his swift stallion. Kate was with him as well, now carrying the Red Orb. And with them, in a black mare, the cloaked figure of a woman.

*

When Derek felt his sister was in pain, he howled loudly, making Parrish grimace. He looked at him with red eyes and roared, charging towards him. Parrish couldn’t let him win, but he was exhausted. Focusing the energy he had left fully on Derek, instead of his mercenaries, he let out a fire explosion with the rest of his energy, blocking Derek’s way. The ball of fire he hurled with a free hand hit the ground and sent a wave of fire against the alpha.

Effectively, he hindered Derek’s path but he was unguarded against Boyd and Erica, who looked at the flames furiously and then tuned their gazes to him. They looked murderous, and both ran towards him, determined to get their revenge. Parrish tried to defend himself, but instead his knees buckled, falling to the ground. He thought he was going to faint. He let his weight fall on his sword, already stuck in the soil.

His vision became blurry, and he braced himself for the worst. His hearing became more acute, though, and he could take in the ever-present screams of agony of the Saur soldiers that were still being eaten alive by the dead. Some of the corpses were no longer rising, but there were enough undead to give the loyalist army a nightmare. He heard a random Northern warrior, probably out of his mind, chuckling maniacally as he proclaimed that Death was on their side.

He smiled briefly, ready to fall unconscious when he felt Stuart’s presence by his side followed by the sound of an explosion. It brought him back to awareness and he felt a strong hand against his shoulder. He opened his eyes and looked up to see Stuart, smiling weakly down at him.

“Death _is_ on our side”, he whispered, and Stuart nodded. Their gazes locked briefly before he turned to face his enemies, and Parrish did the same. Stuart let out a sigh.

Boyd and Erica were on the ground, separate and several feet away, probably unconscious from Stuart’s dark magic explosion. Derek was kneeling on the ground, trying to stand, but weakened. There were still purple sparks in the air and the atmosphere was heavy.

“I’ll take that as a good thing”, Stuart mumbled back, almost to himself.

They looked at the horizon to see the two horses arriving: a stallion and a black mare. He raised his eyebrows and let Soul Reaver stuck to the ground, placing both hands over the cross-guards.

He grinned wickedly upon seeing the riders come down their horses. The first was King Gerard Argent, his armor still polished and immaculate. Then Lady Kate Argent, carrying a Red Orb in one hand and her sword in the other; she stood menacingly against Stuart. Finally, a cloaked figure.

The person approached Derek, who was still kneeling and weak. “A perfect timing”, she said, her voice fresh and disturbingly soft, as she removed her hood to reveal her identity.

“Jennifer?”, Derek managed to say, his voice broken. He was tilting his head and shifting back to human, his eyes losing the alpha red in favor of his natural color. He felt out of strength, and he thought Cora had been hit by Stuart’s spell too. He was failing to protect everyone.

Jennifer smiled, laughing softly as she looked at Kate, and gestured for her to hand over the Red Orb. Kate smirked too, hurling the artifact in the air as Jennifer gracefully took hold of it.

“Yes, my dear”, she said as softly, looking into Derek’s eyes, “I’m Jennifer. And you will do as we say, are we clear?”, she added.

“I… I must… Stuart”, Derek was trying to say, his voice rough and faltering.

“Shush”, she said, a bit harsher, as she stood behind him and yanked him by the hair. “If you’d scratched the right Argent, this would be so much easier”, she added, suddenly upset.

She tilted his head back forcefully. He hissed, but when he tried to break away she put the Red Orb over his forehead.

Derek was paralyzed as the Orb glowed with the color of dark blood, its shine increasing, and he felt a suffocating warmth run through his body. It turned heat and made his blood boil, forcing him to shift against his will. He flashed his eyes red, and his fangs protruded. His nails started coming out, and his feet dug into the dirt as he tried to break from his invisible restraint, but he was helpless.

“W- What…?”, he asked, confused and in pain, his eyes wide. He looked up and saw her face upside down, as she was behind them. Jennifer smiled.

“You should’ve believed the rumors about the Boltons and the Argents…”, she confessed, and Derek’s eyes widened in shock.

Kate Argent smiled at the scene briefly, but then turned to face her opponent. “I’m sorry I made you wait… but I’m here now!”, she said aggressively, taking a step forward.

Stuart raised an eyebrow at her and took a step too, picking Soul Reaver up and pointing it at her.

“You’ve made me wait five years”, he said, full of sentiment, “but what is that compared to the eternity of nothingness that awaits your family?”, he pointed smirking, and Kate refused to raise up to the threat.

“What does your sweetheart think of you killing my niece?”, she blurted out, defensively, “Did she sign up for that too?”, she added, accusatory.

Stuart’s expression hardened. “Every Nyctian knows what happens to those that betray my cause”, he added, raising Soul Reaver and channeling a flash of violet energy against her. The spell threw a jet of light at her. Kate dodged, but she winced when it hit the ground behind her, sending dust all over the air.

“You will pay for your crimes”, Stuart rasped.

He let his sword fall with his arm, and then took it firmly with both hands to hold it in the air again, “You will pay for what you did to Stiles!”, he yelled, full of rage, and charged against her.

Kate grimaced, bracing herself for his wrath, and their swords clashed as another ray of lighting struck the battlefield.

*

Ewyn stopped suddenly when she felt Scott’s arm on her belly. She looked at him wide-eyed, but he just nodded and she swallowed loudly, struggling to obey. Behind them were Isaac, Rafael and John, who had stopped fighting to reach the heat of the battle between Stuart and the others. Parrish was still recovering, but he managed to smile at John from afar, raising his hand in salute. Chris hurried to meet his father.

Ewyn, though, was staring at the scene right before her, not believing her eyes. King Gerard was standing in front of Derek Hale, who was kneeling. Gerard’s bare wrist, armor discarded, was right between Derek’s jaws, open wide. Jennifer was holding the Red Orb to his head to keep him in place. She pulled his hair as she talked to him, but Ewyn only made the last of her words.

“…but it doesn’t matter now, because you’ll be dead!”, she said, biting her lip, and she used the Orb to control his movements once again.

“Bite!”, Gerard commanded, looking at Jennifer. She nodded briefly and then Derek complied, forced by the pull of blood magic, shutting his mouth and piercing the old skin with his fangs. He then opened his jaws wide, howling as Gerard showed a mixed expression of satisfaction and pain. He held his wrist with his other hand, taking a few step backs and looking at his own wound marks.

Ewyn was frozen, but Scott’s arm stood strong on her way.

“Look and see”, Scott said.

She stared back at the insanity of the Scaled. She wondered if Aeron was ever mad like that.

Gerard chuckled briefly before looking at Jennifer and furrowing his brow.

“Shouldn’t it have healed already?”, he demanded, furious. She looked concerned, and before she could reply Gerard entered one of his coughing fits, pressing his hand against his heart.

Ewyn looked at Scott and Isaac, behind her, and it finally dawned on her.

“He… he intended to cure his disease with the curse of the North?”, Isaac voiced her mind, stupefied.

Ewyn nodded. “You poisoned his Rocky wine”, she affirmed, looking at Scott, who nodded silently in response.

“He turned against all lycanthropes, and while Victoria was horrified by the very idea of being a Syn… if there is one thing _he_ valued more than his Scaled heritage, it was the power and health to wield it. Just in case…”

“That’s…”, Ewyn said, looking for words, agape.

Gerard was on the floor now, convulsing and puking a steady amount of black vomit, eyes glazed. He was lying on his side, and by him was Chris Argent kneeling. The knight looked horrified at what would be the second family member he’d lose in the day.

“Brilliant”, Rafael said, sure of himself and determined to help his people. “The Argents are falling apart, their lies aren’t holding together anymore”, he said, as he took a step forward, unsheathing his sword.

John was pale, and he didn’t know what to say.

He looked at Ewyn. “I… I don’t know who’s guilty of what. But this isn’t right”, he rasped, pointing at the hordes of undead that still tormented the soldiers loyal to the Crown.

Rafael looked back at Ewyn and Scott, with a weak smile on his face. “Ewyn, you’re a fool if you think King Gerard and Kate Argent had nothing to do with the death of Queen Claudia by now”, he added, and then turned to look at Scott. “Son, I’m proud of you”, he said, “I hope you will keep doing the right thing. But I need to stop the last Bolton”, he said.

He suddenly left to face Jennifer, who looked furious. She’d left Derek agonizing on the floor under the spell.

Chris’s eyes were watery, and he was holding his father’s body tightly as. He urged him to react, but the King was unresponsive, his mouth open and eyelids shut.

“He’s dead”, Jennifer blurted furious, as she clenched her hands around the Red Orb.

“He tried to trick a Hale for his own benefit”, Rafael spoke, taking a step towards her and swinging his blade menacingly, “You will pay for what you did to his family, because you’re just as guilty as they are!”

She bit her lip until it bled, infuriated. “We didn’t kill Laura Hale”, she spat acridly.

“Peter is already dead, and if it were for your Lords all the Hales would have been five years ago!”, Rafael retaliated, scowling, “and soon you will be too, witch!”

Chris’s eyes were glazed, and he rose slowly, his hands bloodied. His gaze met with John’s briefly, and then Rafael, when another explosion had them all kneeling down. They lost track of time for a few seconds.

Kate Argent landed a few feet away from Chris, hissing in pain. He hurried to help her, and she managed to sit up, grimacing but saying she was fine. It took too much to get up, though, so she just held tightly to his brother’s arm. She realized horrified who the poisoned corpse next to them belonged to.

“The  King… dad is dead…”, she mumbled to herself, in shock.

As the dust settled, Stuart walked up unscathed towards them, emerging from the shadows. He’d been the source of the spell. His stare was cold and he stopped a few feet away from them, staring disdainfully at the corpse. He didn’t seem affected by it.

Then he looked up and met the person in front of him, Jennifer. Her eyes went wide as she realized he was swinging his sword in her direction, and she threw the Red Orb towards Kate, desperate.

“My Lady, your last resor-“, she began saying, but Stuart reached her before, plunging Soul Reaver into her belly.

She was covered only in a black dress, but no armor, an easy target. He smirked as she met his eyes, now brighter. He looked down at her as she crumbled, trying to cling to him. She fought to breathe as her strength failed.

She ended up lying on the ground, her eyes absent. Soon she started gurgling up blood.

“I know who you are”, he said roughly, “When you buried Peter Hale, you tried to hide the place with a spell”, his expression hardened, “You thought your insignificant tricks would stop _me_?”, he added.

Stuart pulled his sword out rudely, eliciting a scream of agony from the dying woman.

“I can always find Death!”, he said, almost growling. “I _am_ death!”, he yelled, making a shiver run down Ewyn’s spine.

Derek was freed from the spell when the sorceress died, and he lay on the ground recovering from his ordeal. He shook, disoriented.

Ewyn glanced at him briefly, but her eyes settled on the mesmerizing blackness of Stuart’s armor; and his face, in a morbidly happy expression. Blood was still dripping from the tip of his blade. She’d been horrified by the idea of what he represented, and his presence made her uneasy in a way she could not put into words. But when she looked at him, she felt like he was every answer she’d been looking for in the last five years, a mystery waiting to unfold. He felt familiar in that strange way some people did, like Scott or Derek, but so much it hurt.

She felt like she had to do something, and she finally unfroze, taking a step forward to follow her heart.

It scared her to death, though, because her heart was pulling her towards the deepest darkness.

*

Allyson and Jackson were still fighting in the distance. Allyson had landed a few more blows on Jackson, and he was in extreme pain now. He’d only been able to hit her once. She hissed and cursed inwardly, promising herself not to slip again.

Both were caught off-guard, though, when they felt long wings looming over them. Belerion appeared and flew towards the heat of the battle, over the waning hordes of the undead and the few hundred men that hadn’t fled or died for good. He passed over them but didn’t cast a shadow in the darkness. They turned their heads and looked at the mighty beast as he landed close to Kate, who was barely standing. She held the Red Orb in her hands.

Allyson swallowed. If Belerion was here, that meant it was desperate…

“The King is dead”, Lydia announced, from the distance, and her fears were confirmed. “I can feel Stuart’s soul”, she explained.

Allyson froze, a myriad of feelings ranging from sadness to hatred going through her mind. Finally a crushing fear made her knees wobble and she almost fell down, barely managing to hold herself together. It disappeared, and she felt nothing. She stared at the dragon, and at the figure of Kate in the distance with a red light on top of her.

She was mesmerized when she saw a blinding white light outshine everything, and then the world fell back into familiar darkness. She’d been frowning, but her expression relaxed. She didn’t know how many Argent family members there were left, and she couldn’t feel a single thing. Her eyes were still focused on Belerion’s landing. He forced the warriors to move towards an elevated ledge before Clearwater not to be crushed.

Jackson stared at the distance too, and even Lydia opened her eyes. They felt uneasy, the dragon forcing their comrades slowly towards the ledge as he approached them. He breathed flame, his roars audible from the hill that overlooked the Riverlands and Clearwaters. They made the soldiers panic even more and disband from his surroundings. 

Belerion ruthlessly charged against the Northerners.

*

“You”, Stuart grumbled, gritting his teeth.

Ewyn felt a crushing pressure over chest, her heart stuttering. He was holding her weight with his fist, clenched around her wrinkled shirt. He saw her pendant, and remembered about his mother and Stiles, feeling a surge of nostalgia that he channeled into anger.

“You little Holy Mage”, he said again, as he pulled her closer. He hooked a finger around the pendant, running the silver chain until it was in his grasp. He checked it briefly before staring back at her.

They were interrupted when Belerion arrived, landing close and sending a strong gust of wind against them. It forced them to shut their eyes, and it put everyone on guard. He ignored the dragon in favor of looking at Ewyn’s terrified eyes, and he found something _too_ familiar in them.

He had no time for games, though, now that he could fight against the beast he loathed. He was also determined to end the Second Ewyn, though, so that Allaris didn’t join the fight. “I wonder why you didn’t bring your own little dragon too”, he rasped, “but I’m sure you’ll regret it”

“I knew from the moment I heard about you you’d only be trouble”, he went on, his grip tightening and choking her. Ewyn was in a panic, and she felt her shirt would break any moment.

“Your darkness… I can’t let… take over”, she tried to say, between shallow breaths, and he’d had enough.

Stuart gritted his teeth, enraged. He crushed the pendant with his hand without a thought, feeling the diamond tear inside his clenched fist.

Ewyn let out a scream, and he felt a strong burn in his hand. He took a step back and set her reflexively. He opened his fist, wanting relief from the intense searing pain, and then a strong light outshone everything, blinding him for a second and suffocating Ewyn’s scream.

Everyone was dazzled, even Belerion, and when they could see again Ewyn wasn’t there anymore. Instead, his brother.

Stuart’s eyes widened. All of them; Kate, Chris, Rafael, Scott, Isaac, Parrish, Boyd, Erica and Derek, were there to see. He tried right then to stand up, recovering from the power of the Red Orb, whose energy was focused on summoning and controlling Belerion.

Before the King of Darkness stood his birth twin, Prince Stiles Stilinski. He rose slowly, wearing the same clothes Ewyn had been in, worn out and dirty with dried blood and ash. His face and pale skin was smeared with the same ashes, and his golden eyes focused on his brother. Their gazes locked, and they cancelled everything else out.

However, Stuart didn’t manage to say anything before Belerion flapped his wings at them, sending a destructive blast that made them fly away towards the banks of Clearwaters.

Stuart lost sight of his brother as he hit the ground hard, bouncing before falling on his back. He struggled to stand up again quickly, and he did despite the pain, desperate to find his brother, thousands of emotions filling him and his rage for the dragon vanished. He saw Kate Argent hurrying in his direction, holding the Red Orb high over her head and pointing it at him.

“Burn him!”, she commanded, and he was brought back to reality.

Stuart’s pupils were blown as he belatedly saw that Belerion had followed them, and he hovered above menacingly. He gritted his teeth and looked up defiantly as Belerion breathed flame directly against him.

“STUART!”, Parrish screamed, appearing from one of his sides. He crashed against him and embraced him in his race, taking him a few steps to the side and spinning them around so that his own back was to the dragon.

Stuart had no time to react when the flames engulfed them, and everyone watched in shock for the time it took for Belerion to exhaust a lungful over them. The Northerners stared in horror, and Stiles paid no attention to anyone else but Stuart, running towards him with tears in his eyes. He had too much information to focus, but he’d just seen his brother disappear in the red flames and he couldn’t take his absence again.

He stopped suddenly when Belerion finished, taking a deep breath and roaring satisfied. He looked back at Kate, who was smirking until her face dropped and her expression was replaced with horror.

Parrish stood up, his armor charred but without a single burn in his body. Everyone knew now he was a fireborn, and he was a Nyctian pyromancer after all. What they didn’t know, though, was that Stuart was too. He rose, supporting himself on Parrish’s shoulder. He gasped to breathe shallowly and erratically, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. He was looking at the ground, but soon he managed to stand on his own, taking clumsy steps before staring at Stiles, perplexed. He looked at Kate with pure hatred.

“KILL HIM TOO!”, the Saur Lady urged the dragon, moving the Orb again with its red glow. She barked the order, in despair.

The dragon took a second as its eyes became injected with blood and he turned to face the young Prince. He was still astonished by everything that surrounded him. Scott was running towards Stiles, his eyes flashing yellow, hurrying to where Belerion was leading him and threatening to trap his friend between the beast and the violent currents of Clearwaters.

Stuart’s eyes widened again and Parrish gritted his teeth as he struggled to stay on his two feet, both of them sweating profusely in their scalding, charred armors.

“S… Stiles”, John screamed in the distance, by the side of Rafael and Chris, as Kate kept commanding the dragon to attack the former Prince. Derek howled desperate and began running towards them too, but it was too late. He felt his blood run cold.

Scott was almost there.

“STILES!”, he cried, looking at him frightened. Stiles looked back in shock, turning his head but not moving. Scott reached for Stiles, pushing him down. Both of them lay on their stomach as Belerion breathed flame over them and towards the river, down the sharp rocks. When it passed, the beast descended upon them with all his might, striking them down and sending them down the river with a loud roar.

Everyone’s throat went dry as Kate smirked, and then she turned back in time to see Derek’s red eyes lose their shine. He stopped slowly, whining a loud howl when he saw Stiles and Scott disappear from his sight.

He could hear Kate’s voice, and he felt sick.

“Destroy them all”, she rasped, but the dragon flew so close to the ground he almost hit his supposed master, making Kate drop the orb on the ground. It shattered into tiny pieces, releasing the spell and causing a small explosion of crimson that enraged the beast even more.

Belerion lost all control, and his attacks and fire became erratic, hunting down soldiers and coming close to hurting Kate. She was on the ground, trying hurriedly to stand up and run back to her brother. She was as confused, hiding from his beast’s frenzy and bloodlust.

Derek stayed there dumbfounded. He saw Cora in the distance trying to crawl away from the battlefield, still hurt. He was about to go when most soldiers, both Saur and Syn, began fleeing away from the battlefield.

*

Jackson and Allyson were exhausted, several feet away from each other. She was on guard and about to raise her sword against him again when their attention was drawn to the battlefield, on the aftermath of Belerion’s many attacks and terrible flames. Both were uneasy about what could be happening, and their doubt banished when Lydia spoke, loudly, putting her arms down. Her voice was weakening, and she looked paler than usual.

“I… I saw through his eyes”, she said with a rough voice and saddened, “St-… Stiles and Scott are gone”, she blurted out with the last of her strength, her look accusatory on Allyson, as she fainted. She fell on her side over the grass. Allyson’s eyes widened as she saw Lydia go down, and Jackson looked briefly at her before turning his head to Lydia’s body.

Then the Argent battle horn sounded, and the loyalist armies started retreating. In the distance, the two Argent riders, Chris and Kate Argent, were already heading back to the camp, probably back to Sylune. Allyson tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but she had a bad intuition about what that meant of her mother’s fate. She lost no time, sheathing her sword and turning to run and leave, barely registering Jackson’s torn scream as he hurried to Lydia’s aid.

“This isn’t over!”, he cried; but Allyson didn’t look back.

*

Stiles was falling down the edge, hearing the rush of the waters from below as he saw the sky farther and farther. It was already light, the dark clouds dissipated. He was holding tight to Scott’s hand, but they were falling fast and it slipped out of his grip.

He looked at his side briefly to see Scott’s wide eyes. Stiles’s expression, however, was blank, without spark in his eyes. He felt all the air leave his lungs, Scott’s screams turned whispers, and then nothing. He closed his eyes, for a second every memory he’d been denied the past five years flooding his mind. His mouth turned dry and he smelled the ashes of Sylune’s fire as vividly as the day his mother died. He felt again the way he slipped from Stuart’s hands; and he felt Derek’s touch, the burn of his stubble against his jaw. All went black, the misery and grief leaving him.

*

The remaining Syn commander, Lord McCall, soon reached Stuart, who was still holding to Parrish. He began to try to walk on his own, limping. Behind him was John, who arrived quickly and looked at him with an expression full of guilt. Isaac was also there, pale and hesitant.

Stuart looked at the distance where the Saurs were fleeing, spitting on the ground and growing restless. The corpses had stopped reanimating, and he looked over at the hill where Lydia wasn’t standing any longer. He clenched his fist, and turned to look at Rafael.

“We retreat too”, he stated, “the risk of staying here is just too high”

Rafael’s expression was blank and weary, but he nodded promptly.

Stuart turned to look at his father, who was trying to say something but unable to. He stared at him coldly.

“Son, I…”, John, the former King said, his voice breaking.

“It doesn’t matter what you say now”, Stuart lashed out, bitter and angry, “there’s no time to mourn in war”, he sentenced, not giving the man a chance to speak.

A horse neighed and soon Jackson was getting off and walking towards him, struggling not to fall. He carried Lydia’s body with his arms. Stuart walked over to meet him halfway, pushing Isaac aside. Jackson looked uneasy at the sky, where Belerion was out of sight. The dragon had left after Kate lost control over him and the loyalists retreated.

Stuart nodded, and Jackson handed Lydia’s body over. Stuart groaned because he was still in pain, but it’s the least he could do for her after all her efforts. The soft fabric of her dress felt strange in his palms after all the harshness and death of the battle. He was holding her by the knees and her back, resting her neck on his hand to bring her head up to his own.

“You did well”, he whispered, smiling softly as he placed a kiss on her forehead. He let fall softly to a more straight position.

He turned around, Lydia in his arms, to face the Northerner again.

“McCall”, he said, “I’ll go back to Dragon’s End until the time comes to strike Sylune again.”, he continued, “Their army is _decimated_ ”

“We’re not doing so well either”, Rafael replied, bitter.

“Gather as many Syns as you can”, he said, and then turned his head to the side, not facing Jackson but talking to him, “as for you, Whittemore, take command, too… I’ll take Lydia and the Syn as a prisoner, back to the mountains”, he explained.

Jackson nodded, sad about Lydia’s departure but compliant. She needed care, and Dragon’s End was the safest place now, considering Belerion was free.

Stuart looked at his father. “You want to be helpful?”, he asked, rhetorically, not even blinking when the man’s face lightened up in return, “You and Jackson take Cora and Derek’s mercenaries back with you. Help Rafael gather men, and when the wolf wakes up you explain what’s happened”, he said, confident.

“She will agree to help, I’m sure”, he continued, “considering that I will kill her brother if they point a sword at me or my subjects again”, he concluded, coldly.

Jackson, who’d walked around Stuart to Isaac’s side, nodded.

Stuart looked at Isaac then. “You saw what your beloved Argents just did”, he said, furious, taking a step forward. He bit his lip, averting his gaze for a second. He couldn’t bear to think of Stiles right now, even for a second, he just couldn’t. Rafael turned his gaze away too, his eyes watery.

The King of Darkness raised his head, his look determined. Isaac feared the worst, tension rising up and making him feel sick.

“I give you _one_ chance”, Stuart finally said, coldly, and Isaac let out a sigh of relief. “You help Cora understand the situation, and you live”

Isaac nodded quickly, shying his gaze away. Parrish was walking towards Stuart, and soon Stuart’s spectral horse, Invisible, made an appearance.

Stuart gave Lydia over to Parrish as he got on the animal and then Parrish helped him get Lydia mounted, between Stuart’s arms so he could make sure she didn’t fall. Stuart looked briefly at each of the warriors there, and finally he looked into Parrish’s green eyes again.

“Ask the Dark Sister to find me”, he rasped.

“Yes”, Parrish spoke, his voice rough from the dryness of his throat.

Stuart nodded back, and then he tugged on the reins and commanded Invincible to ride back towards Dawn Fields, away from the battlefield. He felt the afternoon wind, hot against his skin. He rode between the corpses and the grass, reddened by the blood of Syns and Saurs alike. He felt the weight of Lydia’s body against his armor, and he could feel her life was draining away. He made Invincible go faster. His expression remained hard, forcing himself to repress the memory of his brother. He couldn’t be weak, not now that the situation was the direst.

Belerion was free, and he had to get his strength back to slay him.

**Clearwaters, August 1018 AN**

The Sun was distant, low and filling the sky with orange lights. Scott came back to himself with a massive headache. He heard the water around him before he realized he was in it himself, soaked up and almost facing the surface. He jerked to look around and breathe. He felt the current growing stronger, and the next thing he knew he was close to a waterfall. His eyes widened as he felt the pull towards the edge, a strong wind blowing above him. He fell with the water towards the unknown and feared it was his end. He closed his eyes, but he opened them again when he heard a roar and suddenly hit something hard with a plop.

He coughed up and realized he was riding a small dragon, holding to the beast’s scales. It was Allaris, his green color a welcome sight. He noticed Stiles was perfectly placed, lying on his stomach against the dragon’s lower back, waking up. Then he felt falling water splash over them without a warning.

Next thing he knew, they were in a cave and he could see the waterfalls from the other side. He felt sore and he realized he’d hit the rocks violently. Stiles was coughing up water, not far away from him. His eyes were glassy and he tried to get up, prodding himself up with his hands. Scott felt weak but tried to get up too, to his aid. The dragon was nowhere to be seen.

*

“Allaris saved us”, Stiles said, his eyes devoid of expression. He looked at the wall of the cave from the rock he was sitting in, sharpening a knife he had in Ewyn’s belt.

Scott looked at him astonished. He didn’t know what to say first, wanting to tell his friend so many things, but still shook by the confrontation. He cleared his throat, and simply spoke his mind.

“I… I didn’t know you were alive”, he said, his voice rough, “I never thought you were this close to me all this time”, he said, “…so close to your father”, he added, almost a whisper, as he looked at the wall.

“Well, neither did I”, Stiles replied, seemingly upset. He turned to look at Scott, his eyes watery but his voice angry.

“Scott, I remember it all now”, he added with a low voice, “Even from _that_ _day_ ”, he added, “My brother was set up and no one gave it a second thought…” he went on, before his anger broke into desolation. He felt tears run down his cheek, and averted his gaze from Scott again.

“I… I…”, he stammered, “How could they say he killed mom?”, he added, his voice breaking into a whine. “My… my _father_ believed it”, he whispered

Scott swallowed hard, getting close to him and pulling him for a hug.

“It’s okay”, he said, trying to soothe him. His voice shaky too.

Stiles cried heartbroken, loudly, for some moments until he calmed down.

“How could the Argents do this to my family?”, Stiles asked slowly, his voice devoid of emotion. He broke the hug and Scott cleared his throat, looking into his friend with hesitation.

“I don’t believe Allyson was a part of this”, he said, “or Isaac”, he added, shying away. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then turning to look at Stiles.

“I hope they do what is right”, he said, “but you and I will stick together to the end no matter what. We’ll help Stuart defeat Belerion and Kate Argent”, he continued, resolute with new-found strength.

Stiles smiled weakly, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder and squeezing.

“I think we’re in the Clear Waterfalls”, Stiles said, “We need to go back to the heart of the Valley and help the rebels”, he added weakly, “We need to find Derek and Cora before everything becomes ashes…”, he finished, his tone more urgent. There was a hint of fear in his voice.

“Allaris will help us”, Scott said, smiling weakly, “…and you need armor”.

Stiles took deep breath.

 

**The Meadows, August 1018 AN**

A few days later, Rafael McCall was on his way, on the main road from the Riverlands to the Meadows. He and his remaining Syn soldiers had already entered the second shire. They stopped by a small town that went by the name of Windfield. Their inhabitants were hospitable to them; indeed, many of the Martin men who had been commanded by Jackson were from the Meadows. They had fought against the loyalist armies. The Saurs, Sylunite royalists and Marsh peoples had retreated to the capital in their entirety, weakened and under the command of Kate Argent.

The Kingdom was in chaos and anarchy, and Rafael was discussing matters with John over lunch, in the heat of a summer afternoon. The inn was deserted, a spacious stony room with many empty tables and open windows for the Vallese breeze to come in. It carried the scent of the many flowers in the garden, outside the old building. After so much death and blood, the soldiers and nobles were happy to enjoy a few days of peace, fresh water and hot meals. Everyone was, however, distraught, and they couldn’t find solace for long because the biggest threat still hovered in the skies. Belerion, descendant of Nessaria, once Claudia’s child, was out of control. His presence foreboded the conflagration of the Kingdom.

“I’ve talked to the town mayor”, John said, taking a sip from his drink and placing the cup down loudly. He let out a sigh, looking at Rafael.

“Is it as bad as we feared?”, Rafael asked.

John nodded, face stern.

“Belerion’s burned fields in the Meadows, but he’s left south. Not towards Sylune, though; the latest reports from our scouts say he’s been down in Rocky Shore”

Rafael averted his gaze, playing with the cup in his hand and looking out the window. He bit his lip before talking and looking back at John.

“I wish he went straight to Sylune and burned the rest of Marshmen down”, he asked, “and he might as well”, he provided in an afterthought.

John nodded. “There is no knowing what he will do next”, he said, “every few days, a new town is smitten, and the common peoples are filled with horror”, he said, sorrowful.

Rafael looked serious. “They should. He’s taken too many lives”, he said, his voice almost a whisper. He cleared his throat, looking back at John.

“We must do it for ours sons”, he said, hiding his emotions. John felt his stomach twist, but he had a responsibility now and he repressed his anxiety too, and the pain that he’d been carrying around so many years.

“If we knew where his lair was…”, John added, letting out a sigh.

“We must arrive in Viridia as soon as possible”, a voice from behind said. It was Jackson, who soon joined them, wearing his armor. It had been cleaned since the fight. He liked to feel like a Syn, even if Peter Hale was dead and nobody dared talk about him or mourn him. As Stuart had said, there was no time in war to mourn everyone’s ghosts. And the war wasn’t over.

John raised his eyebrows, and Jackson went on.

“The Martin family comes from Viridia”, he said, “We’ll be well received”, he added confidently; “I’ve talked to two Rockies that have fled the south”, he explained.

“Anything of value?”, Rafael inquired, intrigued.

Jackson nodded, getting closer to the table, clasping his hands together as they rest on the wooden surface. He tapped the table nervously with the heel of his hand. 

“Almost every Vallese is now openly against the Argents. I’ve heard reports the retreated Marshlanders camped around Sylune, but a lot of nobles have left the city. They don’t accept the new regent”, he said.

“Queen _Regent_ Kate Argent?”, John asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jackson nodded. “She likes power too much to leave it in Allyson’s hands. And Victoria isn’t there now to protect her daughter’s interests…”, he said.

John brought his hand to his forehead, letting out a sigh while he pressed against his temples. “How does Christopher tolerate this?”, he rasped, more to himself than to anyone.

“I don’t care”, Jackson spat, abruptly, eager to get to his point. “Thing is, many men and women are willing to join forces against Belerion; and a lot of peasants are going to Viridia as well for shelter. They will flee North, and more soldiers will come that can join our remaining men… against the new Tyrant in the White Throne!”, he explained, proudly.

Rafael nodded. “Good job, commander Hale”, he said. Jackson let a smile show.

“Whittemore”, Jackson corrected softly. John looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “Which reminds me…”, he hesitated, a bit shy, “Cora woke up”

John’s eyes widened.

*

Isaac, Cora, Boyd and Erica were in the outskirts of the village. Cora stormed off, pushing Isaac aside and making a beeline for the nearest tree, punching the bark. She hit it hard until her hands, covered in bandages, were bleeding. Her eyes flashed as they became glassy.

Sundown was close, and she needed to let off steam. She was alone as darkness approached from Dragon’s End, to engulf the Valley in the night.

Erica and Boyd were sitting in the grass, and Isaac sat with them, looking sadly at Cora in the distance. She was resting her arm against the tree, and her head over it, looking at the ground. She was shaking and Isaac thought she was crying. He felt a lump in this throat, but knew better than to go talk to her right now. He instead looked at his pack.

Erica and Boyd were looking at each other, their eyes flashing yellow too when Boyd looked at Isaac.

“She’ll calm down, eventually”, he said, and Erica scoffed. Boyd turned his head, frowning.

“Jackson was harsh with his words”, Isaac said, “it made me want to punch him”, he said.

“This is harsh enough as it is, isn’t it?”, Erica replied, biting her lip as she found Isaac’s eyes. She laid back on the grass, letting out a deep sigh. She rested her head on her arms, crossed behind.

“We were taken prisoner by our enemies, and now it turns out we were fighting for the murderous tyrant they said she was after all”, she said, scornful, turning her head away from them. She felt ashamed.

“Peter Hale is dead”, Isaac said, “and Kate Argent is still alive”, he added.

Boyd led out a sigh, rubbing his eyelids with his knuckles. “I wonder what Derek would do”, he pondered, longing.

Isaac looked at him, smiling weakly. “Protect Cora and the Northerners. Fight for the Kingdom”, he said, “…whatever it takes”, he added.

“Would _you_ fight against the Princess?”, a broken voice came from behind them. It was Cora, her eyes injected, but with no trace of tears. She was wearing worn-out dark clothes, her shirt too loose, and she sniffled as she ran her sleeve below her nose.

“Allyson and Chris have a good heart”, Isaac said, hopeful, “They will never fight for Kate after what she’s done to the Stilinskis”, he told himself, looking at the ground.

Cora huffed, averting her gaze.

Erica straightened herself, sitting up and looking at Cora with a neutral expression.

“Will _you_ fight for the Nyctian?”, she asked, raising her eyebrows.

Cora looked at her, intense and in silence for a moment. She finally let out a sigh. “Do I even have a choice?”, she said, defeated, “I will help destroy the dragon that burned down my family, that made my uncle mad”, she went on, “I will do it for my parents, for Winterfell, for Laura, for _Derek_ ”

“But I will never accept Stuart’s rule”, she stated, her voice rough and decided. “And I will never forgive him if he does anything to Derek”, she added, biting her lip and looking away, her eyes watering up.

“Jackson promised he wouldn’t”, Isaac offered weakly, looking up at her.

Their gazes locked for a second.

“Fuck Jackson and fuck the Vallese”, she spat, taking a breath and turning to leave, leaving her three fellow wolves distraught.

 

**Dragon’s End, August 1018 AN**

Stuart was back in his chambers, out of his armor, standing right before Derek. The Syn himself was in chains, feeling the cold press of metal against his wrists. He was in the same state of undress he’d been in the battle, and still as dirty. Parrish was behind, looking down at him with a look of contempt. He turned to look at the horizon, way beyond Stuart, where the sky was already darkening after a hot evening. The breeze was starting to blow within the ridge, bringing much needed freshness to the complex carved in the rock.

“He’s catatonic, hasn’t spoken a word”, Parrish said, irritated, and then looked at Stuart.

Stuart looked back at him sternly, and nodded. “It’s fine. Leave us alone. Tell the Dark Sister I’ll go visit Lydia later”, he said.

Parrish nodded back, and his expression softened. “I fear she enters a long dream…”, he said, turning on his heels.

Stuart bit his lip, looking briefly at Derek and then back at Parrish. “We’ll see”, he said. Parrish walked away, his steps clashing loudly against the stone until they faded in the distance.

When they were alone, Stuart paced around Derek. The man was staring at the ground. He stopped right before him, taking the chain from the silvery collar around his neck.

“This could be over fast”, he said, pulling the chain to tilt Derek’s head up, meeting his grey eyes for a brief second before Derek averted his gaze. He let out a deep sigh.

“I don’t care about your shame”, Stuart said roughly, “or your pain, or your losses. I don’t care about your anger, what you think I’ve done to your uncle. I don’t care who you blame for your sister’s death”, he said, but got no response from Derek.

Stuart took another step forward, his thighs close to Derek’s face as he tugged on the chains again. His pull against Derek’s neck was strong. He didn’t resist much, though, and their gazes locked.

Derek looked up at his violet eyes, at his face, letting himself take Stuart in for the first time without paying any mind to his hatred.

“I just want one thing”, Stuart said, in a tone too gentle. When Derek remained silent, Stuart’s expression become bitter, and he furrowed his brow. He tugged again, hurting Derek’s neck, making the skin red and tender, as he was too weak to heal.

“Is this about my brother?”, he blurted out, “Do you think you have any right to him?”, he added, acridly. “I spent all of my life with him. The rumors about us? They were true”, Stuart admitted, his voice low.

Something changed in Derek’s eyes, a spark coming back. They became glassy and his stare more intense, but he was looking at the nothingness, not at Stuart anymore.

“You look so much like him”, Derek whispered absently, and Stuart barely registered the low sound of his voice.

His anger intensified, and Stuart let go of the chains. “Did you fuck Ewyn, when my brother was a girl?”, he asked, gritting his teeth.

Derek sniffled, not answering, and Stuart kicked him in the middle of the chest with the end of his foot. It wasn’t as heavy as armor but it was forceful. Derek landed on his back, and Stuart pressed his foot against his chest, heart and lungs compressed as Derek gasped for breath. He didn’t fight it.

“I’m so sorry…”, he apologized in his struggle.

Stuart was on the verge of tears. “I loved just him”, he confessed, his voice shaky, “The real him, for all our life”, he said.

Derek opened his mouth, letting out a shallow breath. He looked at the ceiling, past Stuart’s figure, showing his white teeth. They contrasted with his skin, darkened by the dirt and soot.

“Maybe he isn’t dead”, Derek said, and Stuart pressed his foot so hard Derek couldn’t breathe, hissing in pain. He still didn’t fight it.

“Shut up”, Stuart cried bitterly, “I spent five years here, with only Parrish as a friend, bereft of him, of my home, of all I loved”, he went on, pointing each word with his agony, “All that I had to go on was the hope of finding him alive, that faint hope”, he said.

“How do you think I felt when I knew I’d tried to kill him?”, he blurted out, furious, forcing Derek to stare at him. Derek felt his guilt.

“And then they took him away from me, again”, he said, “The same woman, the same dragon”, he said, “I will fight until my last breath”, Stuart decided, taking a gulp of air to continue, “to bring them ruin”.

“Do you understand?”, Stuart said, and Derek nodded urgently. He lifted his foot, and Derek took in a deep breath, pale from the hypoxia, coughing up.

“I don’t want to torture you, or to interrogate you, I don’t care”, Stuart added, taking a step back, trying to gain his balance. He cleared his throat, his voice still shaky and affected by the surge of emotion. He tried to speak slower.

“All I want is for you to get into a Syn armor and fight against the people that killed your family too”, he stated.

Derek was still lying on the ground, his eyes watery; tears running down his cheeks. His voice was whiny and low.

“I… I tried to be strong. For Cora. My parents, Laura; everyone around me dies. Ew-… Stiles. My sisters…”, he said, voice broken.

Stuart took in a sharp breath, his nostrils flaring.

Derek rolled around on the cold floor, facing away from Stuart as he broke into real tears. He was loud.

“But I’m not strong. I’m not the alpha. I can’t be on charge. I’m not like Laura, I can’t protect anyone”, Derek said, clenching a fist. His other palm spread around one of the tiles, and he stared at the tall cave walls.

“I…”, Derek said, and Stuart only heard because he focused, “I can’t go on”, he said, sniffling. He stopped crying and his eyes went glazed. He took in a deep breath too, and then he said no more.

Stuart was left there, astonished. Derek needed comfort, but Stuart could not provide it.

“You will”, the Dark King rasped, walking towards the balcony, his back to the mess of Derek’s curled body, “you will”, he repeated to himself, wiping his own tears away. He looked at the distance.

“Guards”, he yelled, and two Nyctian death knights entered the room.

Stuart turned to stare down at Derek, in despise, and Derek didn’t resist as the men manhandled him by his chains.

*

Stuart left Lydia’s room, feeling out of breath and anxious in a way he hadn’t for years. It was nearing sundown, and he could see through the open, immense windows in the Temple of Bones. The orange tones of the mountains came inside the high walls of onyx and stone. Near the altar was the Dark Sister, Lydia’s grandmother. She made a beeline towards him, to talk to him as soon as she saw him.

She didn’t have a hood on, and he could see her white hairs flowing down her shoulders like silver. Her face resembled Lydia’s in a way that didn’t leave him unfazed, filled with seriousness.

She spoke as soon as she reached him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Stuart, there is something important I have to tell you”

Stuart swallowed pointedly, fearing the worst. He couldn’t restrain himself. “Please, tell me she will wake up”, he replied.

Lorraine let out a pained sigh, and he could see the exhaustion in her eyes. “We all know what the dangers of controlling death are…”, she said.

Stuart bit his lip, tears threatening to come down his cheeks. “ _Tell me_ ”, he said, barely a whisper.

The Dark Sister’s face hardened and she spoke, soft but clear. “Stuart, Lydia is pregnant.”

The room fell into a deafening silence, and Stuart felt like wind had stopped. Only the two of them were standing, and Stuart felt his knees buckle like he was about to fall. The color left his face, his expression blank, and he began to hyperventilate.

She hurried to help him, catching him in time and pulling, forcing him to stand up on his own feet. She shushed him, and Stuart brought a hand to his neck. He felt a tightness there that he tried desperately to release, clumsy and panicked.

After a few minutes being held by Lorraine, he finally resumed normal breathing, eyes still lost in the nothingness.

“Are you alright?”, she said softly against the side of his face. He was resting against her, not saying a word, but his heartbeat had calmed down too.

“I need to be”, Stuart replied softly, and he started walking away with a hurried pace, mind blank.  

Behind, the Dark Sister looked at him briefly and then at Lydia’s room, letting out a deep sigh. She went into the room and stood by her bed, holding her hand and petting her hair. She did it as when she was little, when it was still red and there was no crushing fear she wouldn’t ever wake up again. She was lying on clean sheets, within a comfortable grey gown, purple flowers spread around the bed in an attempt to pull her back from her lasting dream.

“My sweet child”, she whispered to herself, thumbing her granddaughter’s pale cheekbone.

 

**Viridia, August 1018 AN**

Jackson was standing in the door of Viridia’s town hall, which also served as the main quarters for the Verdant Council, the ruling lords of the city. By extension, they had power over the Meadows and the whole Valley. It was a millenary institution, older than Sylune itself, which dated back to the times when Saurs and Syns were in perpetual enmity. Not that thousands of years afterwards, in the year 1018 AN, things had changed so much in that regard. Sylune stood, but a new Scaled regent threatened the Kingdom’s integrity. The Light had been hiding for the Vallese since Claudia Stilinski had left the mortal world years ago. The oldest and wisest lords in the Meadows missed her diplomacy and bright presence.

The Saur went down the stairs, stopping for a moment when he took the last step. Ahead of him was the stony road that led through the gardens. He looked back at the towers, old and made of the same grey stone, two on each side. Ivy crawled and gave the building its green, ancient atmosphere. He let out a sigh and walked forward through the lush gardens; it wasn’t very hot yet because it was early in the morning. He liked the fresh scent of the flowers after the night. Some were still wet from when they had been watered, right before dawn.

He saw Cora in the distance, sitting on a bench in the middle of the gardens, staring at the grounds absent-mindedly. She was by the three-tiered old fountain, and she was moving a stone around with her foot.  Jackson observed her silently. She was wearing her dark armor, just as he was, but neither had their helmets on. He went straight for her before he realized Isaac was coming in his direction, walking at a quick pace and with a stern expression. He stopped and looked briefly at Cora one last time before laying eyes on Isaac. His former squire looked much surer of himself than before, when he’d been just a frightened boy. Jackson cleared his throat, waiting for him to speak.

“Do you want to talk to Lady Hale?”, he said defensively, not betraying any emotion.

Jackson let out a sigh, averting his gaze. “Isaac, I know you two don’t like me”, he replied, looking at him tentatively.

Isaac raised an eyebrow, inviting Jackson to continue.

Jackson moved his arm around, not sure how to continue. “Look, I want to make things right with Cora”, he said, “I… I always admired her as a warrior”, he went on.

Isaac crossed his hands.

“Really?”, he asked, skeptical.

Jackson sighed again, biting his lip. “Yes. I need to talk to her alone. I… I realized it’s just not worth the fighting”, he said, “That we need to forget our differences to win this war”, he added, apologetically.

Isaac’s expression softened as he nodded, slowly.

“I can’t disagree with that. To be honest I never thought you’d see us as worthy allies”, he said.

Jackson looked at him and Isaac could’ve sworn there was a bit of color in his cheeks.

“Sorry about that”, he continued, “you were a good squire”, he said, looking at the ground. Isaac smiled to himself, satisfied. He took a step forward, squeezing Jackson’s shoulder.

“Be nice to her”, Isaac said, “she’s still suffering for her losses”

“None of us know how many people the Kingdom will lose”, Jackson said, weary, “…nor the ones we’ve already lost”, he added sadly.

Isaac looked sideways at him, smiling weakly. When Jackson met his gaze, he spoke softly. “I hope Lady Martin recovers well”

Jackson returned the weak smile, and then Isaac left in the same direction he’d come. He was left standing there, sad about Lydia. He took a few more steps towards Cora’s bench and sat beside her. She didn’t acknowledge his presence, but he didn’t let it get to him. He couldn’t be too emotional; there was still a lot at stake in this conflict.

“I… I wanted to apologize for how I told you the news”, Jackson said, looking at the fountain, hoping that sincerity was the easiest way. Cora was anything but easy, though.

“Leave me alone, Jackson”, she said brusquely, and he let out a sigh.

“I need to tell you about Belerion”, he said, because she couldn’t escape the reality that they were allies. He wasn’t satisfied he had to play that card, at any rate, though.

“Then tell me and be done with it”, she blurted out, resting her head on her arm. Her elbow rested on her thigh as she stopped moving her foot around. She looked sideways, hard eyes meeting Jackson’s soft expression.

“He’s moving north”, he said, his voice clear, as he stared more intensely. “Which means people are coming from Rocky Shore and the Bay to the Meadows, and especially Viridia”

“Rocky Shore is the ancient seat of my family”, he went on, “I’m of Saur ancestry too”, he said.

Cora raised an eyebrow, huffing. “You don’t say”, she retaliated.

Jackson rolled his eyes. “The Scaled look down on the Vallese Saurs”, he said, his voice tired, “and back in the Shore they think us Whittemores have become too Sylunite, too Vallese for Saurs”, he explained.

Cora’s other eyebrow met her first, and Jackson thought he could strike conversation after all.

“I myself always felt at home in the capital, with Vallese people, like Lydia”, he said, letting out a deep sigh, fighting back the tears that almost formed in his eyes. Cora averted her gaze for a moment.

“Martin’s become quite a powerful necromancer”, she admitted, in a low voice.

Jackson smiled weakly, nodding. “Did you know this place is her family’s seat?”, he asked. She tilted her head up to meet his eyes again, intrigued.

He kept nodding. “Hundreds of years ago, the Martins were Lords of Viridia, part of the Verdant Council…”, he explained, “and now they hold one of the seats in Sylune”, he continued, proudly. He sniffled for a moment, wiping his nose with his hand.

Cora hummed in agreement.

“They’re the most neutral family in the Kingdom”, he said, looking at the sky. “I’ve always loved Viridia”, he went on. Cora didn’t seem upset anymore, so he felt comfortable to ramble.

“It’s not bad, actually”, Cora admitted, looking at him with a small smile.

“Lydia loves it too”, he went on, “I’ve come here many times with her as a child”, he continued; “I never cared for it, but she loved the library here”, he added, “I’m told it has one of the most extensive Old Dynic collection in the whole Kingdom”, he added proudly, as if it was his own home.

“And these gardens are so peaceful”, he blurted out, looking at the fountain.

Cora let out a small sound that could be parsed as a weak laugh. Jackson sighed, getting ready to get to the point he’d been avoiding.

He unsheathed one of the swords he was carrying, and it revealed to be Icefang. Cora’s eyes widened, looking at him with surprise written all over her face.

“I…”, he said, hesitant, “I want to return this to you”, he added. “It belongs to your family”, he continued.

“But…”, she said, still confused, “Peter Hale was your father”, she said, her tone worried, “you’re a wolf”, she continued, “it doesn’t matter that you were born out of wedlock”, she looked at him saddened.

Jackson smiled weakly. “I know, it doesn’t matter”, he said, “I’m not really a Hale”, he said, speaking his heart. “My perspective has changed now”, he said, and Cora laid back on the chair, taking in a deep breath.

He offered the sword, and she picked it, running her fingers smoothly around the metal and then at the wolves carved in the handle. It was a beautiful sword. She became melancholy, with the thought that her mother had wielded it before, and then her uncle…

Jackson cleared her throat. “You children of Talia should have it”, he said, “as should you command the Northerners and inherit Winterfell”, he added.

Cora nodded, accepting his rightful concession.

“I… I never felt like I belonged anywhere”, Jackson said, trying to explain himself as he flailed his arms around, “I loved Lydia, but I paid no attention to her, only to what I wanted”, he said, sad, “I felt like a stranger to my family, to Saurs”, he continued, “I was so happy to go to a war with my uncle, and to be a Syn. To be Peter’s son, I felt like I had a mission”

Cora bit her lip, listening to him.

“Now…”, Jackson said, looking at the ground. His tone was sad and defeated, “All I want is to go home… I want for my friends to live. I don’t care about anything else…”, he said, voice breaking, “if Lydia gets to survive this hell”, he added. He finally started crying on the grey stones below the bench.

He felt Cora’s hand on his shoulder, pressing gently. The she put it over his head and carded softly through the short, brown strands of hair. He rested against her side, sobbing silently and letting himself be comforted.

“Yeah”, she said, absent-minded, her gaze lost in the fountain, “We’re living in Hell”, she continued, “Have done so for many years”, she added, her voice barely a whisper.

As Jackson’s breathing normalized, she looked sideways at Icefang, lying on the bench. She wished she’d never had to use a sword again, too. She’d been consumed by her hatred to Stuart for so many years it was hard to think of him any other way. Her uncle’s betrayal had shaken her even further, and that was difficult considering she’d spent years feral. But she was determined to see the end of this war. To meet with Derek again and give him the sword that the Hale Alpha’s wielded, so he could take care of his pack. No one else should die.

But that didn’t mean no one else would.

**Dragon’s End, August 1018 AN**

Stuart had just gotten out of the pool in his quarters, back in Dragon’s End. He got dressed and put on his cleaned and polished death knight armor, except for the helmet. He took off the small skulls from the shoulder plates, placing them on his desk as he looked at the door. Parrish was coming through, and he saw his friend dismiss the Nyctian guards. He was bringing Derek, also dressed up in a dark Syn armor. He was restrained with small, shining grey handcuffs that let out a faint purple glow. Derek was wearing a matching wolf helmet.

Stuart only looked at Parrish when they met, realizing he was wearing his pyromancer armor. He nodded at his King and knelt, and Stuart kept staring at him as he rose up. Derek was forced to kneel on the ground as well, and he stayed there when Parrish was at Stuart’s height again.

“Anything of worth?”, Stuart asked dryly.

Parrish nodded. “The Regent is holding funerals in the Holy City in honor of the Saur usurper and Victoria Argent”, he said.

Stuart huffed, and he’d have chuckled if he had any joy left. He just kept staring at Parrish. The phoenix, as they’d begun calling him in the Valley, continued talking.

“More people keep fleeing the Bay and Rocky Shore”, he explained, “They seek refuge in Viridia”, he continued, “The Verdant Council is now openly refusing to acknowledge Kate’s authority”, he added.

Stuart raised an eyebrow.

“Belerion is in the Meadows. Every man your father can gather in Viridia, who’s willing to defend the Valley from Belerion, will fight for us against the tyrants”, he said a bit more cheerful.

Stuart nodded, but his face didn’t light up. Parrish’s expression fell again.

“Cora Hale has also agreed to fight against the Crown”, he said, and Derek looked up at them from when he was kneeling, his mouth agape, showing a hint of teeth. His eyes were lost.

Stuart looked down on him scornfully, but then looked back at Parrish.

“Good”, he said, “you may leave now.”

Parrish nodded, raising his hand but hesitating, and he finally left without another word.

When he was gone, Stuart crouched and looked at Derek’s eyes.

“You could be a bit more like your sister”, he hissed, his eyes angry.

Derek stared back at him, his jaw clenching.

“And you like your brother”, he said.

The man barely had any time to register as Stuart punched him in the face, breaking his nose. A line of blood traveled down his lips, but by the time Derek was lying on the ground, he’d already healed.

He’d been cleaned up and fed too, though he had barely spoken. He refused to train, and Stuart let him because it was easier to ignore Derek than to engage him.

His patience had a limit, though, considering the situation.

“Don’t mention Stiles with that dirty mouth again”, Stuart said, looking at Derek as he prodded himself up on his elbow, rising and looking back at Stuart.

“I can’t get it out of my head. Was Ewyn only a distraction to you? Did you even pay attention to him when he was the Prince?”, he accused, angry.

Derek’s look became defiant, and he tried to rise as Stuart walked towards him. The Nyctian took the Syn in his clutches by the neck of his cloak, pulling him up. Their locks gazed and they breathed heavily, everything silent around him.

“I loved him too”, Derek said, gritting his teeth.

Stuart’s eyes were injected with rage, and Stuart was about to respond when the Syn surged forward a pressed their mouths together. It wasn’t really a kiss, more of a brutal clash of teeth. Stuart’s eyes widened, and his grip around Derek’s neck tightened. He stayed like that a few seconds, and when Derek’s tongue tried to enter his mouth he pushed him back violently, sending Derek’s helmet away. Derek stayed there, a foot away from Stuart, panting with swollen lips and blown pupils. He looked at him fiercely. The clash of the wolf helmet echoed in the room.

Stuart opened his mouth, breathing heavily too. His eyes were on fire. “How dare you”, he said dryly, “I’m not my brother”, he added again, closing his mouth and letting out a deep breath.

“I don’t care”, Derek said, and he tried to touch Stuart again, but the necromancer’s hands were faster as he reached for Derek’s handcuffs, capturing them. Derek let out a groan as Stuart casted a spell that broke them off, and he smiled wickedly.

“You will”, he said, and before Derek could register he was on the ground; Stuart had tripped him and his face hit the cold tiles. Stuart straddled his hips, and he lowered himself to mouth at Derek’s nape and the side of his neck. Derek felt a shiver, and he closed his eyes. He breathed pointedly, shuddering.

Stuart’s mouth was gone, and Derek tilted his head slowly. He saw Stuart rising to his feet to get out of his armor. The necromancer took off his pauldrons, then his loosened breastplate and his undershirt. Derek looked at his defined, lithe form and felt his cock strain, imprisoned by his own armor. He grunted and tried to get up, but Stuart knelt and pressed an open hand to his lower back, pushing him against the cold ground.

Derek took a deep breath as Stuart went on, taking off his boots and pieces of armor desperate, the sounds of metal clashing everywhere. When Stuart was in nothing but his undergarments, Derek turned over and Stuart sprawled on top of him, taking the Syn’s hands and pinning them over his head against the ground. He entered Derek’s mouth forcefully, taking and claiming for himself. Derek moaned against him, separating his legs and flexing his knees, toes curling inside his boots.

Derek was desperate for release, both from his armor and from everything that was making him miserable, but Stuart had him pinned down. The King closed his legs, and he grinded against Derek’s armor, making noises that vibrated in Derek’s mouth and sent shivers down his spine.

Stuart’s grinding became more erratic, and he went on until he’d made a wet mess of his undergarments, his dick hard and slick. He wanted release too.

Stuart opened his eyes, and finally broke the kiss, looking at Derek from above in a haze of lust. His pupils were blown, and he finally let go of Derek’s wrists, placing his hands on either side of his face. Derek’s hand tentatively came up to cup Stuart’s jaw, thumbing at his swollen lips. He didn’t get tired of seeing him, and how those same eyes were real; Ewyn’s, Stiles’s. Derek would take him in any form he could, given the chance.

Stuart’s expression softened for a second, because he was mesmerized by Derek’s hint of teeth and his beautiful grey eyes. He had a hint of stubble, that had left a delicious burn in his own skin, and he was still sensitive.

It didn’t last long, though, because soon Stuart’s face dropped and he brought one of his hands up to grab Derek’s wrist tightly, pressing it against his breastplate. He let out a sharp breath, and Derek closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Stuart was looking at him intensely.

“You said you couldn’t be on charge anymore”, Stuart said, eyes dark, “so I will be”, he rasped lowly.

Derek’s eyes widened and Stuart took advantage of the confusion to flip Derek around. He pushed with his knee against the man’s knee pit, to position Derek on all fours. He let out a strangled sound When Stuart placed his hand over his crotch, squeezing hard. Derek closed his eyes and felt his leg armor and boots come off not much later. When he was bare from chest down, in only his brown undergarments, he felt Stuart press his erection against him. He wrapped his body over Derek’s, mouthing at his earlobe from behind, nibbling at it with his teeth as he undid Derek’s lace from behind.

Derek let out a moan when the piece of cloth fell from his knees, and Stuart helped him throw it away quickly. Then there was a hand wrapping around his hard cock without a warning. Derek let out a loud moan and a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

He felt Stuart’s hard cock through the rough fabric of his underwear, and he let out a shaky breath. He continued breathing erratically as Stuart kept masturbating his cock, tugging confidently at the foreskin and rotating his wrist around his length. He thumbed at the tip to smear Derek’s generous precome.

Stuart himself kept rutting with the damp, rough fabric against the crack of Derek’s ass. Stuart rose up to his knees, thrusting his hips forward and moaning himself. He bit his lip as he turned his head to the ceiling, eyes closed, and he stopped touching Derek to grab his hips and make him perfectly still. Stuart enjoyed the burn of the harsh fabric against his dick, the perfect friction, but was growing impatient for release. He took his own undergarments off and his hard cock sprung out, hitting Derek’s tense cheek and making it wet with his precome.

Stuart didn’t need to, but he spit on his dick anyway, forcing the tip against Derek’s hole tentatively. It clenched reflexively, and Stuart grinned wickedly. Derek shuddered. Stuart wrapped his hand around Derek’s dick again to feel him, and then he moved back a bit. He made a circle with his finger around Derek’s hole, and pushed a finger in up to the first knuckle. He felt Derek’s ass clench around him, warm and slick. It slid easily as he pushed deeper inside, making Derek moan and his dick twitch. Derek tried to jerk himself off, but Stuart slapped his hand loudly and hissed.

Derek let out a low whine, but closed his eyes and let himself be opened up by Stuart’s long fingers gradually. He relaxed, and after the first finger was in, there were two and three. Stuart’s pace quickened as he fucked Derek’s ass with his fingers, and he stretched him sweetly, eliciting the most broken sounds he’d ever uttered. Derek felt the intensity of the moment surpass anything he’d ever felt during sex, and he had to hold his breath when Stuart took them out and pressed the tip of his cock against his hole.

Stuart let out a loud groan, closing his eyes as he finally pushed in. He’d been fast, and Derek felt a little burn at first, but he’d relaxed enough that the stretch became pleasant after the first few slides. He clenched around Stuart, as he filled him with each thrust, which was more forceful and deep than the last.

Stuart opened his eyes widely, pupils blown and breath ragged. He couldn’t believe how impossibly warm and slick Derek was, and at the same time he clenched around his cock perfectly. He paced up his thrusts, pounding into the warrior until he was so close to climax he let out a broken noise. He held Derek’s hips tightly, digging his nails in, and he came with a scream.

Derek could feel how Stuart filled him up with his come, his thrusts getting deeper, as if Stuart wanted to be stuck inside him forever. Derek shuddered again, his own dick twitching, but still unable to touch himself. He’d given up control to Stuart, he was in charge and Derek had to take what he did to him.

Derek thought it felt easy and good, to let go of control, to submit and forget about everything. In the cloud of lust, his mouth open and his thoughts disperse, he felt no misery.

Stuart kneed Derek on the thigh again, pulling out and making Derek lie on his back. He straddled Derek, his cock still hard and smeared with come. Derek looked up his abs and chest, at his open mouth and red cheeks, his damp hair. He took in a deep breath, and begged silently for release, feeling hotter each second.

“Give up”, Stuart rasped again with a low tone, “Give up for me”, he said, as he took Derek’s cock and sat down.

He sunk all of Derek’s girth and inside himself down to the hilt, unprepared, and felt his own dick twitch even though he’d just come. The burn felt too good.

Derek let out a loud groan, his fists clenching on his sides, inside his gauntlets, as he felt Stuart all around his cock. He felt impossibly tight. Stuart stayed like that, and Derek’s eyes became watery. He thought he would come any second, and was trying to avoid meeting Stuart’s eyes.

Stuart, however, moved forward and placed an open palm against Derek’s chestplate, moving it up to touch his stubble. When he poked his lip, Derek met Stuart’s gaze, and Stuart then sat up straight. He circled his hips, making Derek groan in pleasure, trying hard not to thrust up. Stuart’s hands pinned Derek’s hips to the ground. He was the one in charge, the one that set the pace. _He_ was the one that Derek had given up control for.

Stuart started moving up and down, tugging on Derek’s cock inside his ass, speeding up the rhythm. Derek panted and made strange faces with his eyes closed.

Stuart then raised an arm, casting a spell that summoned a wire of violet energy, and used it to circle Derek’s neck, forcing him to open his eyes. Stuart tugged on it, tying it around his wrist too. It constricted Derek’s neck, cutting his breath supply.

Derek gasped, almost suffocating, and Stuart played with the pressure. His look was intense as he stared down at Derek. His fist clenched around the wire, feeling the heat of the material, and then he finally rasped.

“Come for me”, Stuart said, not breaking eye contact with Derek. The wolf could see a hint of his upper teeth from below. He thought he was going to asphyxiate.

The shining wire vanished, leaving a red circle around Derek’s throat. It disappeared as he came with a scream, filling Stuart up in the same way he’d filled Derek before. Stuart kept moving with him, up and down, all through the aftershocks of his orgasm. Derek allowed himself to thrust up shyly, to feel the most of Stuart around him while he could. He rode what had been the most intense orgasm in his life.

When they had settled down, they were both a mess. Stuart sat beside Derek, sweating and feeling his ass sore, already leaking. Derek himself was a mess too, his cock spent over the dark metal of his armor.

He let out a deep breath, and kept staring at the ceiling. His mind was blank, but at least he wasn’t feeling bad anymore.

Stuart was looking at Derek, panting. His head was between his elbows as they rested on his flexed knees. He didn’t know what he was feeling either, but he felt better. 

 

**Sylune, August 1018 AN**

The situation was the direst that the Holy Kingdom had experienced in long centuries. The North had lost its ruling Hale, Peter; but the remaining hundreds of Syns that fought for Rafael were still being commanded. More had fled after Stuart’s battle, in which he raised the dead. A lot of people were reticent to use black magic and felt it was profoundly evil to disturb the dead. But many other Syns were tougher, and would take what they could get to achieve victory against the Argents.

Every force Storm Cape had, initially brought to the Valley by Kate herself, had fought in the name of King Gerard during the past battles, and they had been decimated after the last fight. The remaining men, barely a hundred, were now camping in the outskirts of Sylune, ready for the worst. They feared Stuart would come for them again, keep killing and bringing their dead companions back to slaughter them. They were demoralized, panicked and too few; but the fear of turning against Belerion’s commander kept them at bay. It kept the Sylunites, as well.

The Vallese themselves had always been divided, just as their allegiances were in times of peace. Each shire was different. The closer to the North, the more Syn-friendly the lords were. Jackson and Parrish had found it easy to have Osternis and even the Highlands turn against the Boltons, famed lapdogs of the Argents after Claudia’s death. They had fought for Peter, and now they would keep fighting against the Argents.

Jackson had also commanded the Martin men, in Lydia’s absence since she was away in Dragon’s End. Their share of Sylunite men, and friendly Sylunite Lords, had joined the Meadowers. That is why Viridia was open to receive the Northern armies, and not willing to accept the rule of a new mad Argent tyrant after King Gerard’s death. The Verdant Council had begun calling Kate the _Second Aeron_ , and many Sylunite noble lords were fleeing the capital because of these concerns.

Most of Rocky Shore was Saur-friendly, and the Argents had commanded them since the beginning. Jackson was never very attached to his own people, to the lords that both envied and loved his father, the former Lord Whittemore. But it didn’t matter now, because they were scared. After Rocky Shore’s fields had been burnt down by Belerion extensively in the last month, many peasants and lords alike fled. They went north, to the Meadows, leaving their former allegiances to the Argents in favor of having a chance at life.

Dawn Fields had traditionally been both mysterious and isolated. They were themselves apprehensive of Dragon’s End, right at their doors; but now they were positively worried they’d be stricken by the dragon. It had happened before, two thousand years ago, when many Vallese fled to the mountains. Back in the time of Raszira, the Nyctians fled to the ridge. Most of them were Syn and Vallese people that lost their loved ones during the Purge of the Valley, and turned to black magic.

The fear was strong, but so was the despair. Little lords and peasants had begun their exodus farther north from the Meadows, to Dawn Fields, and if Belerion kept going north they’d soon be asking the Nyctians themselves for help. Repeating history; to seeking refuge in the mountains, hoping the Dark Sister took pity on them. Viridia itself was growing uneasy. Because the safest place against dragons were, no doubt, the mountains.

*

After the funeral in honor of the King and Victoria Argent, Allyson didn’t wear a traditional black mourning dress. She still wore her olive armor, a constant reminder to the Sylunites that they had to be on guard, because the Kingdom was openly at war. Viridia, and thus most of the Valley, had rejected the new Regent’s authority.

She was walking through the grey square when she met his father outside the doors of the Throne Room. Sir Chris was wearing his Queen’s Guard armor, but not the one she had been when she defended Queen Claudia. He now defended his sister, Queen Regent Katherine Argent.

Allyson met his cold stare, trying not to betray any emotion. She looked up briefly at Ewyn’s statue and felt a lump on her throat. She refused to pay mind to what was written in the inscription, to think of tales of Saurs and Syns and their perpetual enmity. An enmity that would burn down her Kingdom, the very city of Sylune, as it had before.

“You summoned me, father”, she informed coldly as well, “I actually wanted to see you too”.

Chris nodded. “I wanted to let you know everything about our situation”, he said methodically, eyes not quite meeting hers, “And why it’s best that Kate assumes the regency right now, even if you’re the next in line”, he said.

Allyson scoffed, looking at him with a pained look.

“Next in line?”, she echoed.

“You’re Gerard’s legitimate heiress”, he stated the obvious.

“Legitimate heiress?”, she echoed again, fury rising in her chest.

“Heiress to what, exactly, misery?”, she retaliated, outraged, “What is legitimate about slaying the Stilinskis?”

Chris took a step back, taken by surprise. “Allyson, you’re tired and not thinking straight”, he replied, finding hesitation in his own voice.

“Are you still in denial?”, she yelled, more angry with each word, “You saw it all, I know you did! Look in my eyes and tell me Lydia lied to me, father, go ahead! Did Kate command Belerion to kill Stiles Stilinski and Scott?”

She took a step forward, grabbing his father’s arm tightly, with wide and glassy eyes.

Chris swallowed down, unable to respond. Allyson took a step back, looking horrified, letting down her arm and clenching her fist.

“I… I…”, she said, stuttering, “I trusted you”

She swallowed harshly, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“I tried to be a worthy Argent, I tried to make grandfather and mother proud”, she said, averting her gaze. She looked at the millenary stones in the ground, the ones laid by Ewyn Stilinski himself.

She jerked her face up, looking at Chris with such a broken expression he felt miserable that he’d allowed his daughter to reach that point.

“Why?”, she yelled, her eyes full of disappointment.

“I’ll never forgive myself. Lydia was right all along; Stuart… Belerion is out of control”, she said repentant, “I did everything I was supposed to, I ignored my own heart. Now Scott is _dead_ and I did nothing when they arrested him. My best friend could be dead too because she sacrificed herself to fight against Kate!”

“Mom is dead!”, she screamed, hurting Chris a bit more with each word, because he knew they were true. He found himself unable to speak, but she went on.

“They fought against us because we’re a family of murderers!”, she stated, unable to look in his eyes.

“The blood of…”, she started, her voice shaky, “The blood of Talia and Claudia is on our hands”, she realized, horrified, “Of all my friends”, she added, and found the strength to look into his father’s eyes, piercing them with a desperate look.

“Please, father, tell me you had nothing to do with this”, she said, taking a step backwards.

The Dragon Princess sniffled, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

“Tell me you weren’t a part, and help me get away from her. Be the knight you swore to be, the one I admired, and help Stiles’s father…”, she pleaded softly, her voice turning into a whisper. She averted her gaze, to look at the ground, exhausted.

Reality finally hit Chris.

*

The Queen was sitting on the Throne of Ewyn. The room was empty, all guards dismissed when she asked to meet her brother, Sir Christopher, head of the Queen’s Guard. By her side, on another chair, lay the Red Orb, a constant symbol of her supremacy to every noble and commoner in Sylune. Many whispered Belerion wasn’t out of control, and that she had simply gone mad. She simply dismissed the subject when anyone tried to bring it up, and stated that her interest was to steer the Holy Kingdom away from the Nyctians’ darkness, no more and no less.

She wasn’t dressed with any of Claudia’s hallowed accessories in the funeral for her father, though. Indeed, she wasn’t even dressed for mourning now. She was wearing a dress the color of blood, to match her orb, a ruby necklace and magical tiara, along with golden bracelets. Her burn, flaming hair fell down her shoulders free. She’d been out of her armor, taking comfort in courtly attires, eager to rule at last.

That hadn’t prevented the noblemen from fleeing, though; even her own soldiers were loyal now only out of fear. The Marshlanders tottered in their faith for the former Lady of Storm Cape, now ruler of the whole Kingdom.

When Chris stepped through the empty room, he was in shame, was unable to look at the ceiling and the old Stilinski dynasty watching over him. He swallowed and tried to remain calm as he advanced towards the Throne platform, where his sister was staring down at him. She had a cold stare, and a smug expression, her legs crossed where she was sitting the Throne. The midday light filtered through the stained glass windows, bathing her.

He held her gaze defiantly, not kneeling.

Kate stood up, impatient, taking one step away from the throne and closer to him. She looked down on him from the height of the platform, a lot of steps in between them.

“You should kneel before the Queen”, she pointed as coldly as she stared.

Chris gritted his teeth, upset.

“So should you, but she’s gone”, he retaliated.

He got to the point, while she was still in shock, “Allyson and I leaving at sundown”, he said, “She can’t even look you in the face”.

Kate furrowed her brow, taking a few steps down and not breaking eye contact. She raised her chin, demanding an explanation with unforgiving green eyes.

“Don’t you dare ask why”, he rasped, clenching his jaw and his fists, “I swore to defend Claudia’s Kingdom along with King John and that’s what I will do, until my last breath. Allyson has opened my eyes”

Kate took a step back, squinting her eyes and looking disappointed. She kept staring at him, though, and finally scoffed.

“You won’t get their forgiveness or their redemption”, she blurted out bitterly, “This Kingdom needs an out before it’s engulfed by Stuart’s darkness; it was unavoidable”

“I only want to do what’s right”, Chris said firmly, “for her, for Claudia and John”, he said as he turned, giving his back to his sister.

He looked at the floor. “You’d see this Kingdom burn if you were to rule its ashes”, he said, voice steady, “And I won’t follow that path”

Kate didn’t respond, looking at the floor as well as she clenched her bare fists. She suddenly felt a surge of wrath, just as Chris began walking away.

When he was already the middle of the room, she couldn’t hold her anger back, and she yelled bitterly at him.

“I will destroy the Viridians and anyone who defies me!”, she sentenced, “And I will take _you_ down too for this betrayal!”

“Leave, you coward, leave before I send you both to the gallows!”, she screamed finally, so hard she felt pain in her throat, “Maybe I won’t need too, since Allaris has been seen in the Riverlands. I hope you all burn!”, she added bitterly.

Chris just opened the Throne Room doors, not looking back. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes widely. Then he exhaled as he headed out, heading for the Argent spike. 

Kate took a few step back, collapsing on the Throne of Ewyn. She felt fake, like an intruder for the first time, a coward herself. She was desperate; not because she felt guilty about what she’d done, but because she was failing. She was blemishing the Argent name, and she couldn’t allow that. She took the Red Orb and played with it between his hands.

She’d take Stuart down even if it ended her, even if it took all her might.

**Dragon’s End, September 1018 AN**

Stuart knelt before Lydia’s bed, looking fondly at her. He placed a soft kiss to her damp forehead. She smelled nice, with flowers around her body. Weeks had passed and she hadn’t woken up, but he would make sure she would. One way or another. The words of her grandmother, long ago before he became as powerful as he was that day, still echoed in his head. He still hadn’t completed one of his tasks; the one that would make him have total control of life and death as a full necromancer. He had to kill someone to make them live.

He stood up. Her hair was still dark, but he felt her body had weakened. He placed a hand over her belly, and felt the wall of muscle below the soft fabric, tense from her troubled sleep. At least she was fighting; she didn’t look limp and lifeless. It gave him strength to go on. He wanted her to recover, and wake up in a world in which the dragons and their Scaled rulers were forever gone.

Stuart gave his back to her, letting out a deep sigh. He walked out of the room, his black Nyctian armor clashing loudly. The hour was still early.

*

The King of Darkness was talking to Parrish in his quarters, in the balcony that overlooked the Valley. The sun of September was already high in the sky. It was a bit chilly and they were about to finish when Derek walked in, in his own Syn armor, wearing a black cloak. He stood silently as they finished talking, looking absent-minded at the greenness of Dawn Fields and what lay beyond, Clearwaters losing itself in the horizon. He felt nostalgic.

“There are rumors of Allaris. Twilighters are so desperate Dawn Gallows is getting refugees. They want to be let in the mountains… they didn’t even dare look in our direction years ago”, Stuart said, his face serious.

Parrish let out a sigh and talked, “With Belerion’s advances, Viridia could be attacked any moment now”, he added, meeting Stuart’s gaze shyly. He simply nodded.

“That’s why I must leave”, he added, “I’ll go alone, I must kill Belerion. Do you remember my promise, the day we left Sylune after the destruction?”, Stuart asked Parrish, clenching his jaw.

Parrish nodded back, letting out a deep sigh.

“I must go”, the necromancer repeated.

Then Stuart turned his face to look at Derek, and briefly back at Parrish, gesturing for him to leave them alone. Parrish nodded one last time and left the balcony, disappearing into the room.

When they were alone, Derek knelt and let out a deep sigh, shuddering as he held tightly to Stuart’s leg. The King looked down at him, and Derek met his eyes, looking up at his face.

“ _Don’t go_ ”, Derek whispered; his voice shaky.

“I have to”, Stuart said softly, his eyes glassy. He looked down at Derek as he licked his lip nervously.

Then he cleared his throat, turning his head to face the horizon. He bared his neck and looked at Raszira’s rest.

“I have to protect my family’s legacy. For my parents, for my brother. I will slay Belerion for him”, he said determined, clenching his fist.

“You will die”, Derek rasped.

Stuart jerked his head to look back at him, squinting his eyes. He lowered himself to pull Derek up, tugging on the piece of cloth over his dark breastplate. When they were in each other’s spaces, Stuart surged forward and placed a kiss the corner of his mouth. He bit him, as Derek’s eyes widened, hard enough to draw blood. It ran down Derek’s chin as Stuart broke the kiss and took a step back, letting go of Derek. The wolf fell to the ground, stunned.

Stuart let out a deep breath and licked the fresh blood from his teeth, staring coldly at the defeated warrior.

“It doesn’t matter, because I’m not him. I don’t love you”, Stuart told him, and then walked away. He’d ride away on Invincible before dusk.

Derek stayed on the floor, resting his back against the balcony’s black stones. He curled on himself and became as small as he felt. His hands were shaky, and his thumb lingered on the blood that was still on his mouth.

He couldn’t get Stuart’s words out of his mind, unable to breathe.

 

**Aldor, September 1018 AN**

The arrival of Allaris in the Riverlands scared a few peasants, but the dragon meant no harm. Scott and a weakened Stiles ventured into Aldor, after the dragon had found a cave to use as a den in the meantime. They paid for a brief stay at an inn with what had been Ewyn’s purse. After the battles close to Aldor and the display of necromancy, the city was passing through a rough patch. Even if the Riverlands were free from Belerion’s wrath for the time being, the atmosphere was fearful and uneasy, and they felt the scrutiny of the common folk.

Stiles had felt ill since he’d regained consciousness, and he’d spent all night vomiting in their room, feeling feverish as he sweated profusely. His sleep was labored, constantly shivering. Scott gave up trying to sleep, to try and comfort him, putting wet clothes over his forehead and whispering encouragement to his friend. He patted his damp hair.

“We’ll make it through”, he said soothingly, “you’ll see”, he added, looking down at Stiles with a wide smile.

Stiles felt his mouth dry as he tried to talk.

“Scott…”, he rasped out.

“Yes, buddy?”, he asked as he placed a hand on Stiles’s shoulder.

“I’m… pregnant”, Stiles blurted out, letting out a cough. He stared at Scott, his eyes glassy, “It’s been two months… Derek…”, he added, but he stopped and turned away from his friend. Tears started rolling down his cheeks.

Scott’s jaw dropped but upon seeing Stiles was in pain he pulled, making him lie on his back. Stiles swallowed loudly, looking hesitant. Scott could see he was scared, felt his heartbeat rise with his heightened senses.

“What am I gonna do?”, Stiles pleaded, fearful.

“Stiles…”, Scott said, unsure… “We’ll figure it out.”

“No, you don’t understand”, Stiles tried to say, mostly aphonic, “I need to be there. Stuart… you just don’t… I need to”, he repeated. Scott thought that if the temperature didn’t go down, he’d soon hallucinate.

“Stiles”, Scott said, pinning him with a firm hand on his shoulder, “Of course I understand. I support you no matter what, okay?”, he added. “I’ll fight by your side”, he added, determined.

“But…”, Stiles tried to say, coughing.

“Stiles, I know everything. About you and Stuart.”

Stiles’s eyes widened, but Scott was fast to reassure his friend.

“Listen, Stiles, I’ve known you since we were kids. I wouldn’t judge you for something like that. You know we’ve not been best friends, but he’s your brother, and right now he’s fighting for the Kingdom”, he said, looking at his friend warmly.

“We’ll stay together, okay?”, Scott asked calmly.

Stiles looked up at Scott, hopeful for the first time. Scott squeezed his shoulder. “Just like we have all these years. It doesn’t matter what you look like, or who you love, we’ll always be my friend, right?”, he asked.

Stiles swallowed hard, feeling a huge weight lift that he didn’t know he’d been carrying. “Right”, he echoed softly, “I… I never thought… I always felt something wasn’t right”, he confessed, turning his face to the side, feeling his eyes watery again.

Scott put a hand in Stiles’s heart. “Stuart may be a jerk, but he isn’t a bad person”, he confessed, “he’s been pushed to do terrible things but… haven’t we all?”, he added sorrowful.

Stiles looked back at Scott, clenching his jaw.

“If it’s what you really feel, it’s not wrong”, Scott said firmly, “But what about Derek?”, he added, looking down at the covers, where Stiles’s belly would be.

“I… I don’t know”, Stiles rasped, suddenly feeling the urge to vomit again. He swallowed forcefully, “But… I need to see my brother again”.

Scott nodded, and he reclined on his chair, staying in companionable silence. Stiles pondered his fate, pressing a hand to his womb.

“What about you?”, Stiles finally said, turning his head. He rested it on the pillow to see Scott better. His friend met his gaze, frowning.

“Allyson… and Isaac”, Stiles rasped, to clarify.

“I… I hope Allyson finds it in her heart to help your brother, and Chris your father”, he said with longing. “I want her by our side, to fight for our Kingdom. The one the three of us shared as kids…”, he added nostalgic.

Stiles nodded knowingly. “Before mom died”, he said, the memories of the Day of Fire going through his mind and burning his soul once again.

Scott saw his eyes widen in horror, and he placed a grounding hand to his chest, to pull him out of the spiral of negative thoughts.

“Your mother was a great Queen”, he said, “and tomorrow, we’ll get her last gift for you from the smiths, okay?”

Stiles nodded again, feeling too weak to speak but trying anyway. “Yeah…”

“You should try to sleep”, Scott said, “you need to rest to be strong”, he added. “I’ll make you some tea, okay? Deaton taught me, it will help with the dizziness.”

Stiles nodded and before Scott could go, he grabbed his wrist, looking up at him.

“Thank you”, he said with honesty, “for everything”.

Scott smiled down at him, nodding one last time before he left.

*

The next day, rumors spread around the Riverlands that Prince Stiles, son of Queen Claudia, had come back to life to bring justice to the mad Argent. The Second Ewyn would defeat the Second Aeron. He’d bring her down in his own dragon, in the blessed armor that was the last gift of the Mother of the Kingdom. Light and Darkness had to unite for victory.

Beside the ashes, that hope was all the people had left.

**Dawn Fields, September 1018 AN**

Derek didn’t know where he was or how he’d gotten there, but he felt like he’d been asleep for years. He had no memory of having ridden out of the mountains, but what other explanation was there? He was right outside Dawn Gallows, looking at the Valley and its fields in the slope of the terrain.

It wasn’t right, not at all. The fields weren’t green, because it was mostly bare, brown soil and patches of dark grass. Everywhere he looked he could see the decay and the withered flowers. The sky was grey, and north, well behind Clearwaters, he could see the white snow contrasting with the dark smoke. It rose into the sky all over the line of the horizon. He swallowed loudly, fearing what could have happened to his homeland, taking steps without meaning to. He walked forward, smelling the ash and death.

He didn’t notice when the sky turned orange, and he started hearing the screams of soldiers and all people, even children, in the distance. He saw the sky being filled with gigantic dragons, which flew well above the ground and never landed. Above, they breathed flame to turn the sky into an endless furnace. He felt sweaty, as if he’d just stepped into Hell.

Maybe he had, and maybe he deserved to.

He realized he was in a battlefield, surrounded by corpses. He saw hordes of dead people around the perimeter, closing in, carrying the Argent banners. They raised with rotten, bony forearms. He saw their generals, mounted in spectral horses, much like Invincible; Christopher, Victoria… he saw Allyson with a bow, a single silver arrow in her quiver. Her grey skin and violet eyes pierced him as her hand dripped blood to the ground. He took a step back, panicked, only to realize the dead bodies were people he knew: Isaac, Boyd, Erica, _Cora_ ; the ones he was supposed to take care of, his pack. Scott and Jackson were dead too, by the side of Rafael and John. Their skin was grey, their corpses cold and unmoving.

_Why didn’t you save Cora? Why didn’t you save any of them?_

He had little time to dwell on his horror as his gaze fixed on the two last living people, in the center of the battlefield. One was lying on the ground, with one arrow in his shoulder and one in his heart.

It was Stuart, in his Nyctian armor, out of his helmet. He was being held by Ewyn, whose beautiful brown hair had turned a decaying white, and she had an arrow in her heart too. She was bleeding down her white shirt, staining it with the blood. The trail lost itself into the dark, cold ground.

Ewyn was crying over Stuart’s shoulder. He was dead. And she would die too. Ewyn looked at him menacingly, eyes injected in blood, their whiskey color absent of all brightness.

Derek breathed deeply, feeling out of his body.

_Why didn’t you save them?_

The thought repeated over and over, until it was voiced out loud by someone he knew. It was Laura.

He was in Winterfell, looking at Laura as she was stabbed to death by her mother’s sword, Icefang. The perpetrator, his uncle, was Peter, who was smiling sadly at Derek. He pierced him with his crystalline eyes.

_Why didn’t you save me?_

“You don’t deserve the sword, Derek”, his uncle said, “You only deserve to die. You’re good for nothing; you don’t have it in you to be an Alpha. And you let your Alpha die. You failed your sister…”, his voice said, each word like a needle sticking into Derek’s soul, making him bleed his life.

_You don’t deserve anything_

All became blurry. He saw Prince Stiles in Ewyn’s Throne, stretching his hand out as he cried blood. He saw Laura’s face once again, smiling at him, before she coughed blood violently. He saw his mother, laughing with her little children. He saw Stuart, looking down at him, telling him he didn’t love him.

_No one loves you_

The last thing Derek remembered, he was reaching out. He looked for Stiles’s hand, his firm grip and his sweet stare, as the little Prince cried, this time salty tears running down his cheeks.

_Save me._

Derek suddenly jerked awake. He felt dizzy and pained, and everything was spinning until he could finally get a sense of reality. He was in Stuart’s bed, in his chambers, and at the sides of his table were Sir Parrish and the Dark Sister, who he’d learned was Lorraine Martin. He was extremely confused, until he managed to gather some of their words.

“He’s running a fever and sweating so badly I fear he’s going to dehydrate. He was having a terrible nightmare”, the young voice of the old woman said.

He felt Parrish nod at her, but before he could reply he grabbed Parrish’s wrist with all his strength, tugging on it. The pyromancer was startled, but didn’t move away. Parrish got closer to the bed, eyes wide, and lowered himself so he could see Derek’s face better.

“I want to go with you”, he rasped, tongue sticking out, fighting for air.

“I will fight for Stuart”, he added, determined.

Parrish gave him an honest smile, taking Derek’s hand and squeezing it.

 

**Viridia, September 1018 AN**

Cora, Isaac, Boyd and Erica were sitting by a campfire outside Viridia’s gardens. It was the dead of the night, but they couldn’t sleep. They should rest, however, because the next day would be the ultimate battle. Belerion was looming over the Meadows, everyone expecting for him to strike Viridia.

The Queen had declared Viridia’s Verdant Council traitorous for its allegiance with Stuart Stilinski, and she’d sent the last of her armies to attack the city and subdue the nobles. They counted with the Syn forces, though, and would not surrender. Nobody rested easy, though, with the Queen’s remaining Saurs approaching and Belerion perhaps under her command, even if amidst moments of madness.

Not that the Queen Regent could rest easy, either. If she lost, Stuart and his army of Northerners would be at Sylune’s doors, and she in the gallows.

Cora was lying on the grass, looking up at the stars. Boyd was quietly staring at the fire, with an exhausted expression. Erica was with Isaac, resting against him as they faced the fire too. The nights were beginning to grow chilly, another harvest about to come. It was fall when Ewyn Stilinski defeated Nessaria; a good omen, Viridians said. But it didn’t feel that way.

It was Erica who broke the silence. “I wonder how big Allaris is now”, she said, “Ewyn always moved with such ease around him”.

Isaac smiled silently against the fire, and Boyd did as well. He put his palms against his knees, looking at Erica.

“Do you think the rumors are true?”, she said.

“Maybe”, Boyd replied, staring back at the flames. “I always thought it was a matter of time Allaris came back to Ewyn… to Stiles, whatever”

“But now…”, he mumbled.

Erica bit her lip, her expression saddened. She looked at her companion intensely. “Do you think we did well coming here?”, she asked.

Isaac pulled her closer, letting out a deep sigh.

Boyd raised his eyebrows. “Of course”, he said, confident. “Our place is here, with our Alpha, fighting for him”.

Cora let out a deep breath herself.

“I wish he was here”, she said, longing.

Boyd nodded. “He and Ewyn made quite a good pair”, he commented with nostalgia. “And now we’re not only out of a second Ewyn, but we have a second Aeron”, he added. He threw a small branch at the fire, instigating the flames.

Erica’s eyes filled with curiosity. “When did you learn about Aeron?”, she asked, “I don’t really know much about our own history”, she said.

“Well”, Boyd said, smiling, “it’s not like Ewyn kept to herself when she rambled on about the Holy Kingdom”.

Erica let out a small chuckle, dissipating when sadness overcame her again. “I guess it makes more sense now, that we know it was _his_ Kingdom”, she noted.

“Poor Sir John”, Isaac said, and the rest of them nodded.

“But there’s something else to it…”, Boyd said. Cora raised her eyebrows and sat up, turning to face him.

Boyd kept looking at the flames. “Back in Yith, the tales of Aeron and the Red Sorceress are still alive”, he said, “I heard them myself, back when I spent a few weeks in the city”, he said.

Erica looked at him, intrigued. Boyd continued.

“Aeron became mad and casted a spell on Belerion, but the dragon lost all control”, he said, “…Kate Argent’s spell may’ve lasted longer; the Red Orb is a very powerful blood magic amulet, after all”

Isaac nodded, and Boyd looked at him. “But it _always_ breaks the dragon’s sanity”, he added, “Blood magic comes with a price”.

“Both caster and beast become insane”, Cora said, looking up at the stars. She stared absent-mindedly at the pale dots, thinking of times of yore.

“That’s why we’re having a second Aeron”, Boyd explained.

Cora looked at him, licking her lip quickly. She looked tired too. “Ewyn’s prophecy, a thousand years ago, said that everything would be consumed by the flames of death if Syns and Saurs kept fighting”.

Isaac let out a joyless laugh. “Well, tomorrow we fight against the Crown”.

Erica closed her eyes by his side.

“I hope Allyson doesn’t get involved in this”, Isaac continued, talking more to himself than anything, “I can’t lose them both…”, he added, sniffling. Erica held tighter to him, shushing him. Cora and Boyd looked at each other, compassionate.

Cora tapped at Icefang, on its sheath, laid beside her. Boyd looked at the long sword, and Cora stared at it briefly before looking back at him. She forced a weak smile.

“We should rest now. I want all my strength tomorrow. I want to give this to my brother after all. We survived the Fire, and we will survive this”, she said, forcing herself to believe it.

Boyd returned her weak smile, and Erica and Isaac nodded from where they were cuddling.

Cora sighed, lying on her back to try to conciliate sleep.

*

Allyson and Chris arrived in Viridia on a late afternoon, with barely a handful of Argent bannermen, only those who were closest to Chris. Kate was quick to run a harsher policy for treason after the Princess left Sylune, after which no single soldier or noble left Sylune again. The mere suspicion of desertion would be punished by death.

Daughter and father had already left, though, and they were received peacefully in Viridia. They were cheered by the people as they entered to meet the Verdant Council and Rafael McCall. The decision that they’d defend the shires of the Valley from Belerion, joining forces with the Nyctians and everyone else, was more welcome as the mad dragon flew closer and closer. The southern half of the Meadows had been cruelly punished during the previous week, and the peoples were more desperate than ever, living old fears their ancestors hadn’t felt in centuries. There were hundreds of refugees setting camp by Viridia’s outskirts, together with the mercenaries and soldiers that had come to her aid.

McCall and Sir John met Sir Christopher and the three came to an understanding, after which John and Chris hugged fraternally. Chris asked for forgiveness, swearing himself to Stuart, in the name of the Stilinskis.

As soon as Allyson walked out of the gardens, she saw Isaac and Cora in their armors. Isaac’s golden tones shone beautifully with the last rays of the sun, against the purple sky of the Vallese twilight.

Allyson walked over hesitant, biting her lip, and she stopped at a respectful distance. She looked at Cora apologetically, ashamed. Cora looked back at her, and Allyson averted her gaze before she looked up at Isaac again.

A soft breeze went through her free hair. She allowed herself to take a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, Isaac was looking at her with longing and fondness. He quickly moved forwards, closing the distance between them to pull her into a tight hug, and she melted into it. She closed her arms around him, letting out more air than she thought she could hold. She felt relief flood her, and even Cora seemed content, staring at them in a friendly way. Her eyes didn’t flash yellow, so Allyson took it as a good signal.

“I’m sorry”, she whispered into Isaac’s neck, and she knew Cora could hear too.

“It’s alright”, Isaac answered, carding his fingers through her thick, black hair. He felt relief as well from the embrace.

Some moments later, both separated reluctantly, and Allyson stared at the ground a bit more before their eyes met again. She smiled weakly.

“I wish I had trusted Lydia from the first moment”, she said sorrowful, looking at Cora too.

“We couldn’t know”, Isaac replied simply, and Cora nodded.

“No use in wallowing”, Cora offered, taking a step forward to fall in line with Isaac. She moved forward a bit, to squeeze Allyson’s shoulder.

“We’ll end this together, after five years”, Cora said, offering her hand.

Allyson took it and shook it firmly, “You and I on the same side. For the Kingdom”, she said, “For Claudia’s memory”

“For Scott and Stiles”, Isaac added, putting his hand above theirs.

Cora looked at him, smiling weakly.

“For my parents and Laura”, she finished.

*

That night Allyson chatted with them by a fireplace, within one of the big mansions of Viridia, belonging to a friendly Lord that had lent all his resources for the final battle. They were sitting in stone chairs, drinking some ale as they looked at the embers.

She’d already finished her dinner, and she looked at Isaac.

“Has…  Has Stuart sent any dove regarding Lydia’s fate?”, she asked him.

Isaac denied with his head, “He just issued orders”, he replied.

Allyson sighed sadly, crossing her arms over the table. She rested her head over her forearms. Isaac felt exhausted as well, wanted it all to be over. He stared at the fire, attentive.

“We have to defend ourselves with all we have when Belerion attacks. It could be in a week, or the day after tomorrow. We’re ready to face him”, he offered, with all the confidence he could master.

“I don’t rely on Stuart”, they heard a voice say from behind, and both turned around to see. It was Cora, eyebrows raised.

Isaac shrugged, looking back at the fire. Cora looked down at Allyson.

“Have you heard about Aldor?”, she asked.

Allyson denied with her head. “The town in the Riverlands?”, she asked.

Cora nodded, “It’s famed for its armor smiths”, she said, “and it’s been shook by all the battles there; they want nothing to do with this, but they aren’t fighting for the Queen either…”

Allyson denied with her head. “Kate wouldn’t ask them for help, they’re too weak”, she replied, “What about it?”

“Allaris has been sighted in the town”, she said.

Allyson licked her lip before nodding. “My father told me”, she said, “but I wasn’t sure if it was only a rumor”, she added.

Cora let out a sigh. She looked at Allyson intensely.

“I don’t think so. Do you think there’s any chance this dragon will fight Belerion, that he’s on our side?”, she finally asked, worrying her lip.

“Maybe”, Allyson said.

Isaac got up and looked at both women, trying to hide his yawn. He looked at Allyson, wondering if she’d come too.

“I’m going to sleep. You should all rest for tomorrow. It could be the day”, he said, as Allyson got up as well.

“Goodnight, Isaac”, Cora said.

“I’ll see you tomorrow”, Allyson added. She and Cora nodded at each other before they parted their separate ways.

Later, in her bed, it was difficult for Allyson to fall asleep. The night was agitated in Viridia. She remembered a particular night in Storm Cape, five years ago, when she first saw the Red Orb and it gave her nightmares. She felt uneasy, but she was exhausted too, and soon she fell into a dreamless sleep, letting go of all. She would rise with dawn.

*

Dawn arrived, and the day had come.

King Stuart arrived in Viridia in the early morning; just as the sun was rising, lighting up the green fields. He thought how they would turn ashen as soon as Belerion flew north. By what he could tell, it would be on the very day, in the heat of battle.

He rode Invincible swiftly as he left the main road, feeling the chill of the morning, and hearing the steps of his horse on the dewy grass. Some days were still hot from the late summer, but the last nights had been especially cold, more so in Dragon’s End.

Stuart led his horse to a small hill where a single rider was standing, armored. She had a quiver in her back, full of silver arrows. She was looking at the horizon, past Viridia’s surroundings.

He approached her, looking at the horizon as well. The men under Northerner command, his command, were already in position, bracing themselves for the fight. Deeper within the level fields of the Meadows there were isolated farms and small woods. In the distance, scattered, what could only be Kate’s remaining troops were approaching steadily. They had minutes left until their arrival, and the horns from Rafael’s second-in-command captains would blow any time.

When Invincible was by the side of Allyson’s horse, she felt a shiver from the spectral cold, but remained still. She turned her head to acknowledge his presence, and Stuart just nodded. The former Princess quickly stared back at the distance.

“I’m sorry it’s come to this”, Allyson said softly. Stuart kept looking at the horizon too, grabbing his reins tightly. There was little either of them could say on the matter, that both didn’t know; little they could say that would make anything better.

“At least you’re bright enough to be on the right side now”, Stuart replied, in what Allyson took as an amiable tone. She’d never gotten along with him, but she hadn’t hated him, not really.

“Is… Lydia?”, Allyson asked hesitant, as she saw the Argent Marshmen crossing the last farm. They passed through the expanse that separated them from their own men and Viridia. She felt a lump in her throat.

“She’s in a deep dream”, Stuart blurted out, his voice rough. Allyson understood, so she clenched her fists in frustration. Sometimes, comatose people woke up. Sometimes they didn’t, and there was no way to know in what state she’d come back.

“I miss them so much”, Allyson said, her voice shaky, “Your brother, too; Scott, and Lydia”, she said.

Stuart wasn’t one for consolation, and Allyson already knew. He scoffed, looking at her with a bitter expression. He ignored the mention of his brother; couldn’t risk dwelling on his fading memory before a fight. But he could become a dragonslayer for him.

“I can feel her dying”, he rasped, looking at her intensely. Her eyes went wide.

“Since she came to Dragon’s End, and took up where she left when we were still in Sylune, our souls are one”, he explained.

“She’s my best friend! I… I wanted to understand her passions, I tried!”, Allyson replied, frustrated, “but I can’t wrap my head around it”, she said defeated, letting out a deep sigh.

“I know now you didn’t command Belerion”, she said, “it’s all on my family, and I will carry that with me forever”, she added, looking at him unsure, “but even if your end was just, how can you and her say what the Nyctians do is right? You brought all those souls back from the dead, prolonged their torment. You’ve played with life and death, and now Lydia’s light is dying! Why?!”, she demanded, on the verge of tears.

“Because I can. We have that power. All our lights are dead, Allyson”, Stuart rasped out, looking at her angrily. “Can’t you see that? There’s no such thing as innocence for us, not after that day”, he stated.

She looked at him, her eyes wide with his confession.

“There’s only power and death in this world”, he said.

“I don’t expect you to understand now”, he continued, “not when you couldn’t understand for your best friend”, Stuart accused with a low tone.

Allyson sniffled, uncomfortable.

“But the big lords that condemn the Nyctians are all hypocrites”, he said with confidence, rising his chin. He saw the Northerners about to charge.

Allyson was about to say something when the horn blew, and they both reined their horses in, to keep them in place. They saw how the Northern warriors charged and clashed with the Scaled vanguard, beginning the fourth battle in this conflict. Stuart kept talking, unfazed.

“The dead don’t feel”, he stated, “People are always superstitious about things they don’t understand; they’re full of fear of the unknown”, he added, raising his tone.

“I used their bodies to fight for me and win this battle. Condemn me if you want, preach about how I’ll bring darkness to the Kingdom. Pray to the Light if you will”, he said, not as angry as before, but still determinate, “Truth is, even peasants turn to me when Belerion is on their heels”, he noted, “When their false Queen’s gone insane”.

“You can disguise it”, he rambled, smiling, “but evil is not about the dark arts, it never has been. Men have killed each other for ages, long before Dragon’s End. Indeed, you remember well why the Nyctians were brought together, or have you forgotten?”, he asked, piercing Allyson with his violet eyes. She swallowed, but nodded. She knew very well what the Salthariens did to the Syns in the Valley, why the mountains were a dragon graveyard.

“Magic is a tool. Evil isn’t in it, but in the hearts of men”, he explained, “of some, at least”, he added softly, thinking about Stiles, and how good he’d always been for his friends. Stuart had despised anyone who tried to stop them from being together, but he knew Stiles cared about people. He understood, even if he didn’t share his feeling. He just couldn’t, less so now.

“So, what are you getting to?”, Allyson asked, looking at him softly.

“You may understand some day”, he said, commanding his horse. He made Invincible neigh, as he raised his forelimbs in the air, then falling back to the grass loudly. Stuart turned to face her.

“When there’s intent, it doesn’t matter if you play with life and death, that you burn them to death, poison them; that you push metal through their guts”, he screamed, “What matters is _why_!”

“The difference between your aunt and me now, is that I want to win for my own cause; but she just wants me to lose above all”, he confessed as he took off. Invincible jumped off the hill to the lower land below, and rode into battle

Allyson could hear Stuart yell from the distance, as he looked back at her for the last time.

“What do you fight for, Argent?”   

Allyson was left there, frozen, pondering his words. He saw the King of Darkness enter the battle, unsheathing Soul Reaver, starting to drive Kate’s men away.

Then, in the distance, she saw her aunt arrive. She was surrounded by men with the Argent royal banners, riding her stallion and carrying the shining orb. She felt bile rising in her throat, and she found the resolve she needed. She couldn’t stay still, she had to make right everything her family had done wrong.

Even if only for the memory of those she cared about, and for the ones still alive.

She rode off too, getting closer and closer to the battlefield. Her dark hair moved against the chilly wind, and she left a shy sun behind her.

*

Allyson followed into battle following Stuart’s trail of corpses, where he’d killed the loyalists that dared attack him. After he’d gotten off Invincible and went straight towards the enemies, he followed the pull towards Kate Argent’s insanity and blood magic.

Her aunt, the Queen Regent, was still on her stallion when she came across Rafael and John, the commanders for their troops. She tried to get to them as soon as possible, but it was too late. All she managed to see was the spark of the rising sun in mad eyes, as she casted the ultimate spell.

Kate put her hands in the air. She started reciting words in Old Draconic as the orb absorbed energy from the environment, glowing stronger. A strong roar echoed around Viridia, and that’s when Belerion appeared in the horizon, from the south.

Kate gritted her teeth and used the last of her energies, making the orb break and her eyes shine. They became the same deep red as the crystal had been, and Allyson knew her aunt was gone for good. A gust of wind blasted Rafael and John off their horses, several feet away from the Queen. It injured them severely, making her crackle maniacally.

Sir Christopher rode quickly past Allyson, not even looking back at her. Instead, he went straight towards his sister, unsheathing his sword.

He jumped off his horse in time to swing his sword. It clashed against the metal of her armor, and she reacted quickly, getting down. She landed as gracefully as she could after having been struck, on her open hand and almost crouching. She looked back at Chris, East Thunder beginning to spark up. He looked back at his sister, his gaze unwavering, as his cloak settled down.

She gritted her teeth and groaned furiously as she charged against him. The Regent unsheathed West Thunder. He turned back quickly, intercepting her blow and beginning a quick succession of strikes that sent sparks in every direction. They danced around each other gracefully. They’d trained together since they were children, under Gerard, in the Marshlands. Allyson was aware they knew well each other’s weak spots, their techniques and how the other thought. They could anticipate each other. While Kate was enraged, she was also deranged, and she slipped as much as her fury empowered her strikes. It was harder for Chris to push her away, but he could dodge her imprecise strikes.

Kate took advantage of another of Belerion’s roars, charging against her brother and summoning the power of her blade to invoke a ray of thunder. From the tip of her blade, she directed it towards his brother’s armor, making a strong current go through his body. The beast’s arrival unsettled everyone, including Allyson and the rest of her friends that were just arriving behind her. All of them fell to the ground as the dragon descended, flying past them and lifting up dust in a violent wind. She could hear Cora, Jackson, Erica, Boyd and Isaac.

When the dust settled, the dragon landed between the Argent brothers, and Allyson and her friends. She could see her father on the ground, in the other side, coughing up with a blackened armor. The knight writhed in pain as he tried to get up, in visible agony. His muscles twitched, and she could see the sparks from his armor where Kate’s thunder had stuck.

“You won’t… win… this”, he said, gritting his teeth. He looked up at the smug expression on her sister’s face, her expression manic. It had a hint of twisted satisfaction.

“Oh, I will”, she said, smirking, but when she heard a whistle her face fell. Kate jerked her head to look at the distance, where Belerion had landed.

Chris coughed up more, managing to sit up and saw it too. Stuart had just arrived, and he’d helped Allyson up from the ground. Both of them had unsheathed their swords and were now facing Belerion, whose eyes also shone red, much like his mistress’s.

Chris smiled, managing to stand up and look at her sister. She looked at him briefly with disgust, about to lose her patience.

“It seems like Nyx and Diana disagree”, he told her.

She clenched her fist around the handle of her sword, and looked back at the dragon.

“Belerion, kill them all!”, she screamed coldly, raising her blade in the air. The beast let out a loud roar as it prepared itself to attack.

From the other side, Stuart nodded at Allyson. He wielded his blade against the beast, as she placed an arrow. Isaac came behind her, casting a spell to empower said arrow with thunder magic.

“ _NOW_!”, they heard Stuart’s voice say. Kate hissed.

Allyson shot the arrow and Stuart surged forward.

*

Parrish arrived shortly after Stuart did to the fight, riding Firemane. With him came a resolute Derek, in Syn armor, but Belerion had already descended to bring destruction. They feared it was too late. He saw Cora, Isaac, Allyson and Stuart battling the dragon. Belerion was under the spell Kate has casted, as evidenced by his mad appearance and red glow. She’d commanded him to kill Stuart, without a shadow of doubt.

Stuart levitated around to dodge Belerion’s claws and moved swiftly when small jets of fire were ejected from his nostrils. Allyson kept shooting arrows to irritate the beast, and Cora followed Stuart with her own blade. She struck and bit the beast’s scales with her frost. Belerion grew angrier, but was also weakened by their joined efforts.

Kate was angrier too, though, and she kept using her energy to channel wrath and destructive blood magic towards her slave. The dragon got fiercer, and went into a rampant berserker phase in which he swept around everyone. He tossed the four of them aside. Only Stuart and Cora managed not to fall, landing close to one another. They helped each other up from the ground, in their relentless effort to defeat the dragon.

Around them, the armies were still fighting as in the first battle, moved by loyalty, fear and anger. Derek stared in horror as his sister and Stuart were attacked. Parrish ran towards whom he realized was Sir John; the man was in the ground, and he tried to speak to him. John was alive but very weak, and it seemed unlikely he could stand up.

“Help… my son…”, he said, coughing.

Parrish’s eyes widened and he nodded. He turned his head briefly and saw Stuart, who was charging against the dragon. Derek was gone, nowhere to be seen, but his armor lied on the ground, discarded.

His eyes went back to the King of Darkness as he leapt in the air. Soul Reaver cut all through the side of Belerion’s snout, making the beast roar angry and in audible pain. He looked back at John, who had fainted with an expression of worry. Parrish decided to carry him away from the fight, closer to Viridia. When he was in a safer place, he returned straight back to the battlefield.

He met Boyd and Erica in time to look at the horizon, when a higher pitched shriek was accompanied by a roar. A distinct shadow flew over them, and he knew something was happening.

In the distance, both Belerion and Stuart looked at their sides and saw Allaris, the Western Green Dragon. No one had seen him before the war in the Holy Kingdom in years, since the first rumors about Ewyn started being whispered.

Stuart followed Allaris with his eyes as he landed between them. Meanwhile, Kate kept channeling her life energy to increase Belerion’s power. Allyson and Isaac were already regrouping with Stuart, and the archer was at his side when they realized who the riders of the dragon were…

Stuart’s heart stuttered, and Allyson let out a deep, choked sob upon the sight of Stiles and Scott, getting off the magnificent beast. Belerion didn’t take his presence well, and he roared, but did nothing while Kate was frozen in horror. She gritted her teeth in frustration from the other side, clenching her fist so hard she almost broke her gauntlet.

Stuart was frozen in place, and he cancelled everything out when he saw his brother in his true body. He was wearing a shining, golden armor; one that could only be from Aldor’s armor smiths. It was to be worn by paladins and knights, that swore to defend the Light and uphold the good. He felt a warm sensation in his chest and let himself be flooded by all the good memories he had of his mother’s Light. Her devotion was strong, dreaming of a Kingdom of justice and peace that included everyone. Stuart could see her will embodied in her son, his brother, who had come to make things right for him. Stiles was alive, and he finally let out a shaky breath.

He mumbled to himself. “Stiles…”, he said, and heard a similar utterance from Allyson, who was still by his side. She looking at Scott in Syn armor, and said his name too.

“Scott…”

She looked at Stuart briefly, a silent question implicit that her eyes weren’t deceiving them.

“They’re… alive”, Stuart said with amazement, as tears started rolling down his cheeks. He smiled.

“Yeah”, Allyson said. She smiled too.

Another roar from Belerion pulled them out from the moment, and Allyson found herself staring murderously at her aunt and the dragon. She clenched her fists.

“We need to end this”, she said, determinate. Stuart nodded, sharing one last glance with his brother.

Stiles was smiling softly back at him. He let those golden eyes that he’d missed so badly sink in, full of fondness and purity. He stared one last time before he turned to the dragon.

Stuart clenched his grip around the hilt of his soul blade.

“You’ll pay for my mother”, he sentenced, gritting his teeth as he charged.

*

“You’re still alive?”, a rough voice came from behind. Stiles felt Scott tugging on his arm. He looked at Stuart one last time, who smiled back at him. A hint of kindness surfaced from the depth of his dark eyes.

Stiles gritted his teeth as both turned to face the Regent.

“Yes!”, Stiles screamed, as he stood proudly.

He unsheathed his shining long sword and pointed it at her. Chris was kneeling on the ground, not able to stand up, but Kate had made no further movements towards him. She was focused on strengthening Belerion.

“And you won’t bring me down as easily now”, he added, as Allaris looked at the woman with despise. The smaller dragon could feel she was casting a spell on Belerion, prolonging the curse and suffering of one of his kind.

Kate let out a joyless laughter; Scott grimaced, but Stiles’s face remained stern.

“It doesn’t matter who you bring”, she said coldly, “I will take you and your brother down again”

“You’ve been staining my mother’s memory for too long”, Stiles replied, loudly, as he took a step forward. “It’s time to make things right for my family”, he said. Kate raised her sword defensively.

“We’ll see how well the Little Prince plays”, she mocked him, “I always took you were more of the magic craft”.

Stiles turned his head, smiling at Scott, and they exchanged a knowing look.

“Whoever said I can’t do both?”, Stiles replied smugly, and he charged against her.

She hissed and braced herself, as Scott walked over to help Chris up.

*

After Chris was in a safe spot, Scott rode Allaris around the battlefield to breathe flame around Kate Argent, isolating her from her loyal Marshmen and the rest of the battle. When he was done, he got off his mount inside the secluded part, by his newly made border of fire. He flashed his eyes yellow to her, as she tried to direct Belerion’s attention to Stiles.

Belerion, however, was quite busy with Stuart. The beast had shoved off Cora, Erica, Boyd, Isaac already. He realized Allyson was close to him, lying on the ground, slightly burned. He went to her, and cradled her head in his arms. He looked at her with a soft expression.

“Hey, you’re going to be alright”, he said as calm as he could. She smiled up weakly at him, but she was in obvious pain. Always brave.

“Help… them…”, she told him, coughing up blood. She faced away from him and spat it on the ground. The fluid was dark and thick. Scott bit his lip as he tilted his head to look at Kate, furious.

The Regent was openly desperate now, as Stiles relentlessly attacked her with his blade. He pushed her back against the wall of flames.

“Give up!”, Stiles yelled at her, angry, “Repent and I’ll still let you live, in exile, far from this land you desecrated!”

“Never!”, she grunted, and tried to hit him furiously. Stiles managed to intercept the sword and pushed back, disarming her.

Kate’s thunder blade was thrown aside, falling on the ground inert.

“Very well”, she rasped, looking at him. Her eyes were injected in blood as she put her hands together. She made the shape of a sphere with her fingers, and empty space in between became filled by a dim red glow.

“What are you doing?”, Stiles asked, gritting his teeth. He took a step back, suddenly pushed by the winds blowing outward from her spell. He had to root himself to the ground not to fall back. He still managed to raise his sword, pointing at her neck and aiming true.

“If you keep casting, I am killing you!”, Stiles said with a rough voice. His blade lit up white with the holy energy he was transmitting to it. His power is what was stopping him from being pushed back by her energy.

Kate just smirked, though, and the next he knew he heard an ominous roar from behind. Belerion’s was shining the brightest red right now, the slits in his yellow eyeballs hiding until they became two white spots. His wings spread, and Stiles’s blood ran cold as he turned his head around apprehensively. He saw the abyss of the beast’s fauces, threatening them.

“Purify us both by fire, Belerion!”, Stiles registered Kate saying before everything went down.

He felt it happen in slow-motion and at the same time within the blink of an eye. Allyson tried desperately to get up, screaming his name loudly, and Scott was running towards him with fear in his face. Stiles stared back at the dragon, giving his back to Kate.

He saw Stuart running towards the dragon too, before the mighty beast, which was flapping its wings. It lifted itself close to the ground, showing his chest and preparing to breathe deep flames in his direction. He couldn’t meet his brother’s eyes again, because Stuart was giving his back to him. He ran towards Belerion, desperate and anxious.

When Stuart was close enough, he held Soul Reaver’s handle as tightly as he could with both hands. He leapt off in the air towards the dragon, higher than his legs allow him to, following the power of the blade. He aimed for Belerion’s heart. The beast started breathing a wall of yellow, orange and red flame, which released the darkest smoke he’d ever seen or felt, but the necromancer tried not to breathe.

Stuart put all his magic in this one single blow, overloading the blade with a violet glow and making the metal vibrant. He managed to feel and hear the skin of the dragon’s chest pierce. Black blood dripped out as he pushed the soul blade through his heart. He made the blade explode and release all its power, destroying it. Slaying Belerion.

Stuart opened his mouth and closed his eyes as he was engulfed by the flames, following the dragon’s last heartbeat. Belerion let out a pained, high-pitched shriek as he flapped his wings one last time before falling. The wave of flame didn’t reach far enough to hit his brother or Kate Argent. He’d absorbed it fully.

“Stuart!”, Stiles felt himself scream, numb, when he realized the scene.

He felt wet, and he wasn’t just sweating, he was crying. He felt a tear slide down his jaw and fall to the ground. He legs were shaky and at the same time he felt stuck in his place, helpless but to observe as Stuart fell violently close to them. He hit the hard ground with his back and lay there, lifting up the dust. The shattered hilt of his blade was still in his hand, and he was bleeding from different parts of his body, a small line running down the corner of his mouth.

Belerion finally hit the ground too, sending a gust of wind in their direction. Stiles still didn’t move, not until he heard Scott scream again. He looked back to see Kate Argent gone berserk. She’d taken her sword, and was charging towards him enraged.

She said nothing as she grunted, her eyes still glowing red.

They heard a loud howl when a wolf, flashing his eyes red, appeared amidst the flames. He ran towards them swiftly and jumped at Kate Argent’s neck as Stiles turned his whole body to face them. His armor shone against the fire and blinded her in the process.

Kate hissed, and in a matter of seconds the wolf was close enough to bit her neck, bringing her down to the ground. He ripped her throat out with his teeth, severing the jugulars. She started convulsing, digging her nails in the ground. She bled uncontrollably, trying to cough up but only filling her lungs with the blood. There was more and more until she was suffocating.

Stiles was in shock, looking at the wolf’s bloody snout before he turned again to look at Stuart, who was struggling in agony. When he realized he came back to himself, desperate, as the wolf shifted into a human. He was a very naked Derek, with a tired stare and a heaving chest. He kept staring at Stiles as he approached Stuart, their gazes locking for a second.

Kate tried to speak, but she just stared blankly at Derek. She clenched her jaw and fists as stared back at her.

“This is for my family”, he said harshly, and she gritted her teeth.

He saw her try to reach out one last time. Her eyes were glazed, and in an instant she was gone, last words replaced by blown pupils. He had no interest in hearing her voice, though, not anymore after what she’d done.

Derek looked back at Stiles, who was lying by Stuart’s side now. He felt a as he remembering his nightmare.

*

Allaris flew by them and breathed flame over Belerion, charring his body further. He would never take off again after Stuart’s attack, though. Derek had run to them after he’d arrived, right with Parrish. Even if he hadn’t witnessed Belerion’s death, he’d felt the power from the spell and its caster; and they were all feeling it diminishing afterwards.

Scott helped Allyson, who was leaning against his shoulder as they marched on. So did Parrish, Derek, and Cora, and soon they were close to Stuart, who was lying on the ground. He was smiling at Stiles. His brother cradled his back, sitting him up a bit so he could breathe better. He casted a spell that surrounded them both in white light.

“St-Stiles… I don’t have… much time… much time left”, Stuart said, as he coughed up dark blood, staining Stiles’s golden armor.

He didn’t care about his armor, and was openly crying now, holding tightly to his brother’s arms. He looked down at him, tilting his head. His tears fell over Stuart’s breastplate, invisible in the blackness.

“I love you”, Stiles said disconsolate, as he sobbed, “Please, please don’t die”, he said, “I wish I could’ve…”

“Stiles”, Stuart rasped, his smile fond, “listen to me”, he added, “you’ll be a wonderful Father for this land, much better than I could ever be…”, he told his brother, “what everyone needs.”

Stiles gulped, swallowing hard and sniffling. His twin went on.

“Promise me”, Stuart said, gritting his teeth and grimacing at the pain, “that you will live on”, he whispered, “be happy for me, make my life be worth something”.

“Your life has always been worth something”, Stiles blurted out, indignant, “no matter how many lies they’ve said about you, I don’t give a damn, never have”, he replied angry, as tears kept rolling down his face, “I love you”, Stiles repeated, his voice too weak.

“Something that has meaning for me”, Stuart clarified.

Stuart grabbed Stiles’s hand tightly, and he flinched when Stuart started coughing again, until he could open his eyes and look at Stiles. Stiles had stopped casting his spell, and he was bracing himself for the worst.

Stuart tried to talk again.

“Rule wisely, like mother did”, he said, “I’m sure… she…”, he said, coughing again, “she would be proud of you”

“Make sure father knows I loved him”, he added, and Stiles kept nodding nervously. Stuart’s body was heavy, almost lying on the ground, and Stiles’s tears fell over his brother’s neck.

“I’m so happy you’re alive”, Stuart said clearly, before gaping and staring at the morning sky. It was blue, like the Strait’s beaches they had been to so many times in Sylune.

He started feeling cold, and could tell the time was coming. “Live on, brother”, he repeated. Stiles grabbed his hands tighter as Stuart turned his head slowly. He looked at Derek, who watched them in the distance.

“There is one last thing I can do… with my life”, Stuart said, his voice clearer now, but the pulse almost imperceptible in his ice cold hands.

“One last task”

Stiles looked confused, but Stuart just reached out slowly and pulled him down. Their lips met chastely one last time before they separated. When Stiles opened his eyes, he saw Stuart exhale softly. Life left his body as he let out his final breath.

He kept staring at the nothingness, and Stiles choked a sob as he brought his hands up. He delicately closed his eyelids and hugged the body tightly, crying disconsolate over the cold skin of Stuart’s body.

Parrish, who was watching them with Derek, still had Stuart’s last words echoing in his head.

 _One last task_ , he pondered, again and again.

 

**Dragon’s End, September 1018 AN**

Lorraine was startled when she felt Lydia sit up in her bed, her hair the color of flames again. She noticed her granddaughter’s eyes were wide and back to their natural color.

Lydia’s throat was dry, but she managed to tell her message.

“Stuart is dead”

 

 The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading, the story is now complete. There's a short epilogue to close up the narration put in a separate chapter. If you liked, or want to say something, I always appreciate comments :D


	8. Epilogue

**Sylune, Royal Palace, March 1024 AN**

“Come on, Der”, Stiles laughed, trying to squirm away from under him.

Stiles had just woken up, lying on his own bed within the royal chambers, surrounded by Derek’s warmth and also his morning enthusiasm. He had the habit of waking up terribly late, and that day was a particularly poor choice. A Council meeting was appointed, and the high Lords and Ladies were coming from all over the Kingdom, so he shouldn’t keep them waiting…

“I can’t be late _again_ ”, Stiles hissed, trying to escape. He just ended rolling over, his naked chest against Derek’s, under the sheets. He stared intently at his King’s eyes as they both panted from the effort. He had yet to get tired of looking at those beautiful grey eyes.  

“Shh”, Derek said, preventing any further reply by placing his lips over Stiles’s, “They can wait for the Kings. I’ll take my sister’s bitching, if that’s what you’re worried about”.

Stiles let out an open-hearted laughter, and decided to fall into temptation. It was true, they could wait.

Derek took his time, as always, placing kisses all over Stiles’s sleepy body that had him tingling. He loved when Derek breathed in his scent, inhaling from his neck and sending sparks down his spine. When his wolf was satisfied, Derek rimmed him. Stiles liked to lay there, eyes closed and his hand curled in a fist over Derek’s soft, dark hair. He thrusted his hips into Derek’s warm mouth, shallow and erratic motions, because Derek didn’t want him to come yet. He had something better in mind.

When Stiles was almost over the edge, Derek removed the sheets and plastered himself over him, kissing and frotting wetly against his husband. Stiles was soon desperate, moaning for more and seeking friction. Derek was happy to comply, finally lining himself up against his entrance. He pushed inside him slowly, face to face, hovering over his body.

They made love in their wedding bed, and when Stiles came he had the kind of orgasm that made his toes curl. His seed spilled between their bodies, making a mess of them both, and not much later Derek followed, moaning as he came inside in long spurts.

They stayed like that, breathing in sync and snuggled against each other’s warmth until a servant knocked. He informed the Council members had arrived.

“Fuck”, Stiles said, placing a hand in Derek’s chest and pushing him away, “This is all your fault.”

Derek chuckled.

*

When Stiles arrived in the Throne Room, after changing his clothes and with his brown hair still disheveled, he stopped for a moment to take in the sight. His son, Prince David Stilinski, counting just 5 years of age, was sitting in the throne. His small legs moved about awkwardly, too short to reach the ground. His hair was dark and kept short, and he had the golden Stilinski eyes. His skin was like his own, pale and speckled with moles, and still he had something undoubtedly northern about his features, the handsome factions of Derek and Laura. They’d named him after Derek’s father. He was the best thing he’d done in the world and it melted his heart to see him and Derek. He was the true son of Saur and Syn.

Derek was by his side, ruffling his hair with a smile, already in his King’s Guard armor. The design had changed, from its golden color in the times of Claudia to a darker, more Syn-themed color. Now King Derek was the head of the Guard, and many loyal darklanders had been called to Sylune.

He was so lost inside his thoughts, a dumb smile in his face, that he hadn’t seen the other guests before the throne steps: Lady Allyson Argent and his husband, Lord Scott Argent, from Storm Cape; and in the other side, Lady Cora Hale and his husband, Lord Isaac Hale, from New Winterfell. They’d already arrived, and Stiles gulped at the sight of an impatient Cora.

“For Light’s Sake!”, Stiles screamed, as someone placed a hand over his shoulder from behind.

It was Lady Lydia Martin, and he turned abruptly to look at her, accompanied by Lord Jackson Whittemore. Both were Sylunites, so he hadn’t expected them to arrive late as well. Sir Parrish was with them, close to his nephew, and smiled at the King’s flailing.

His loudness made everyone in the throne room realize his presence, and Allyson and Cora were the first to turn around.

“Oh, look who’s there”, Cora said amused, “Should we call you the King who Got Stuck in the Sheets, or King Creeper”, she added, turning to look at Isaac, who was holding his laughter.

Stiles’s face went red, and he kept staring at Lydia like she’d committed treason, “Why are you arriving just now?”, he asked, still in shock, “you live minutes away!”

“I knew you’d be late”, she shrugged, and just kept walking past the King to greet Allyson, “plus I’d rather not carry this”, she said, pointing at her own swollen womb, “for more time than necessary”.

Stiles glared at her as Allyson approached too, talking to him.

“Don’t worry, your Majesty, the Prince had us in good company. He’s so grown up! He even told me ‘not to kneel because I’m fat with a baby”, she quoted with a smile.

Scott laughed as well as he came to greet Stiles, and Cora and Isaac waited for Derek to come down and talk to them.

“Hey, man”, Scott said, as Stiles got lost in conversation with him.

Parrish excused himself to go look for Chris, John and Melissa. Jackson stayed close to Stiles, but he wasn’t alone. He was holding the hand of a little girl, also 5 years old. She had a fiery beauty to her comparable only to that of her mother, but she had golden eyes too. Her skin was fair, and she had a natural talent for magic and an early interest for the dark arts.

She was Ivy Martin, Stiles’s very nephew; the daughter of Lydia Martin and Stuart Stilinski.

She hugged Stiles’s leg, staring up at him with a smile. Then she left running towards the throne, to little Dave, before the King could react.

*

King Stiles III Stilinski, Allyson, Cora, Jackson, Lydia and Rafael McCall, who had already arrived, had all left to the Council room, as they held the Six Seats of Sylune now. Rafael had been given Ashenfort, since the death of the Boltons let it vacant, and his own castle was mostly in ruins.

In the meantime, Isaac and Scott had left to catch up. Derek sat in the throne with Ivy and Dave in his lap, and he placed a kiss to his son’s temple before he kept telling them stories.

“…and before our time, when your Papa’s papa was the head of the Queen’s Guard, the armors were made of gold”, he said.

“They look cooler now”, Dave replied, punching his dad’s chest, as Derek smiled.

Ivy was staring at Dave, but she suddenly looked at Derek.

“Why? Is not gold the color of Light?”, she asked.

Derek was always taken aback by the girl’s insight. He cleared his throat.

“Yes, darling. Queen Claudia was also Mother of the Kingdom, but Stiles isn’t, he gave the title to his friend Heather, the Holy Mage.”

“Heather?”, Ivy asked, raising her eyebrows, “Why? She looks at me funny…”

A woman’s voice came from the end of the room, loudly echoing through the open space.

“Because the Cult of the Light is made of pricks!”, the voice added, as it approached, “And your King’s too cool for it! Some bullshit about dragons.”

David laughed as Dame Erica came closer, also in her armor, much like Derek’s. Both she and Boyd were part of the King’s Guard and resided in the palace, along with King Father John, Melissa, Sir Christopher and Sir Parrish. In her hand she held a little girl’s, her daughter’s.

“Rain!”, Ivy said, jumping down from Derek’s lap to hug her friend.

Rain was also 5 years old. Beautiful and strong, her skin was light brown and her eyes hazel. She wanted to become a knight like her mother and father, and she was close friends with the Prince and Lady Ivy, whom she wanted to protect like Boyd and Erica protected their Alpha.

Derek brought his hand to his forehead and let out a sigh.

“Please Erica, don’t say blasphemy in front of my children”, he whispered as she smiled, “Where is Boyd anyway?”

“He’s catching up with Isaac and Scott, or maybe hanging out with his sister, not sure, whatever”, she said dismissive, and then changed the topic, “By the way… Isaac looks good”, she noted.

Derek looked at her.

“Yeah, he really looks happy”, he said sincerely.

“And you know who else looks good? Have you seen Scott’s squire, Liam? Light bless his…”

Derek cleared his throat on time and Dave tugged on Derek’s arm, helpful for him to ignore Erica’s lewdness in front of the children.

“Daddy, why isn’t Cora fat with babies too?”, he asked.

Erica bit her lip to restrain her laughter.

“Hm, I don’t know, that’s a good question. Why don’t you ask her when she comes out of the Council?”, Derek winks, and Dave seems to ponder it.

“Close call”, Erica mouthed, and Derek just glared at her.

“Hey Dave, can we see Allaris? It’s Ivy’s birthday!”, Rain asked from below, bringing her to Derek’s attention.

“Um…”, Derek replied, hesitant.

“Come on, I’ll take them”, Erica said, “don’t be a spoilsport”, she added with a wink, “after all, David will be his rider someday, right?”

Derek sighed in defeat and the three children cheered, chanting that Aunt Erica was the best.

**Viridia, Belerion’s Rest, September 1024 AN**

The Kingdom had changed a lot in the six years that had passed since Stuart’s death. The aftermath of the Civil War left wounds in the land and society, and the scars would always be tangible. King Stiles III Stilinski was the one left to deal with it, but thankfully he wasn’t alone.

When he ascended his mother’s throne, Gerard, Kate and Stuart were dead. He took Derek Hale as his consort, and they relied on each other to heal. They were good for each other, and soon their baby was born, representing the hope his mother had invested on him of making peace. Syns and Saurs could live in harmony, and everyone celebrated the birth of Prince David.

He and Derek, together with Lydia and Jackson, who married as well, stayed in Sylune. Melissa and John Stilinski stayed in Sylune too, as did Christopher Argent, and so did Parrish, who was re-knighted. The Cult of Light had grown more skeptical of dragons, and the Verdant Council took a religious turn after the death of Belerion in Viridia’s proximity. To avoid tensions, he renounced the role of Father of the Kingdom, separating the Crown from the religious power, and gave it to his old friend Heather; this made even more sense considering his future concessions to Lydia and Parrish.

Stiles signed a royal decree to allow the presence of the Siblings of Nyx in the Kingdom, as an honor to Parrish, Lorraine, Stuart, Lydia and his niece Ivy, their legitimized daughter. She was the same age as David, born a few months later. Necromancy in the Holy City wasn’t well received by the Light, but since Stuart had saved the Kingdom and was recently a national hero, they remained silent at the measure. Nyctians such as Lydia and Parrish became part of the Astral Society and the King’s Guard, respectively. Stiles thought division could only breed hatred and that they should not be marginalized in the mountains. The very reason they were there, in the first place, was because of the Saltharien folly. He thought that their books and history shouldn’t be burned and forgotten, but remembered; and that Ivy shouldn’t have to hide or be ashamed for her parents’ role in defeating Belerion and the Usurpers.  

That Stuart, his brother, should be remembered, because he shaped who he was.

Slavery tried to make its way back to Pentos and its colonies, but The White City helped the Purple City to maintain its free status. Stiles flew several times there with Allaris to help his old friend and Pentosi ruler, Deaton.

One summer, Stiles left the Crown in the hands of Lady Regent Lydia, and flew west to Yith with Derek, Scott, Erica, Boyd and Isaac. They found and brought back Boyd’s little sister, though they couldn’t help change the situation there when he had a Kingdom of his own to rule. Boyd cried from happiness and thanked Stiles for months. It was their most exotic holiday.

He encouraged for Scott to marry Allyson and rule the Marshlands. Many Scaled were outraged by the presence of a half-Syn in their bloodline, but Allyson was an Argent, and the last Argent at that, and so they had to tolerate. They had no means or will to fight, in any case, with all the losses they had endured in the Civil War, led by a crazed Kate.

Isaac married Cora when they moved to New Winterfell. Laura was payed due respect in the crypts. With a Hale, the North could rest again. As for Ashenfort, it was given to Lord Rafael, who ruled Grizzly Hills and Osternis. Neither Cora nor Rafael had heirs yet, though.

All in all, peace seemed a possibility for the first time in years.

But it hadn’t been free of cost.

*

“I dreamed I was Ewyn again”, Stiles told Lydia, as they stood before Belerion’s tomb, “and I couldn’t save him…”

It was a giant boulder, as was the tradition for burying dragons. It lay outside Viridia, where the final battle had taken place. They visited every year to honor Stuart’s memory. A plate read,

_In honor of Nyctian King Stuart V Stilinski, who saved us all from the fires of madness. Light and Darkness is in us all._

“I know the feeling”, she said, reminiscing how she woke up from her slumber, only because he never would again, “I know”, she repeated softly.

She took Stiles’s hand, intertwining their fingers.

“Some things just aren’t meant to be”, Parrish said behind them, looking with longing at Dragon’s End, in the distance.

“But others are”, Lydia replied, smiling at Stiles. She motioned for him to look down, and he did.

A few feet from the stone, Dave and Ivy were looking intently at the inscription. He took her little hand to comfort her, and in response she placed a kiss on his cheek.


End file.
